My Sister,Sherrinford
by Servant of Fire
Summary: AU In which Sherlock and Mycroft discover that they were put in an MI6 witness protection program as young children, their foster parents changing their names to match their own. And in which Mary is not who she thought she was. In which Sherlock solves his own case, and John must save the Holmes boys, and his wife, from their dark past...
1. Chapter 1 Anthea Takes a Message

**My Sister ,Sherrinford~**

**Chapter 1: Anthea Takes a Message~**

_"Mycroft Holmes, Anthea speaking, Can I take a message?"_

_"Anthea, dearest! put my brother on the line, would you?"_

_"Uhh, he says he's having his evening doughnut right now, is this important?"_

_"A trifle ,really. Please, tell him, that earlier this afternoon ,our parents tried to shoot me ,and Mrs. Watson ,and she and I ,are currently racing a motorcycle towards the on-coming tube, having tried to evade the men in black cars with machine guns ,that are chasing us high speed,and driving down the rail-way. So, tell him ,really, that I just called to say "hello" or rather "goodbye",and to warn him that maybe Mum and Dad really won't be in a very sociable mood come Christmas morning. Oh ,it's hard to steer with a phone craned into my neck, I'm going now__

_*CLICK*_

_Anthea staired at the phone, wondering if this was a Sherlockian prank. But she turned the telly on, just to see._

_Sure enough,there was Sherlock's story on the evening news._

_"MYCROFT?!" she wailed,and Mycroft came running. Immediately,calls were being made,and a black helicopter joined the scene on screen..._

It had been a rather uneventful day,to start with. Sherlock hadn't had a case in a week,and was starting to get a little restless, reminding John of a tiger cooped up in his cage for too long, pacing in his flat incessantly,when he and Mary had come for tea the last few afternoons.

There had really been nothing going on at the practice, either. John was actually beginning to get mind-numbingly board himself. He had the skill for battle-field injuries,and he was stuck giving flu shots.

Mary was being almost sickeningly patient, so, to sort of make up for a date, he said. "Why don't you take the rest of tonight off,and maybe go help Sherlock do the Christmas shopping for his parents?He's rubbish at that sort of thing."

"Is there a pretty nurse that you don't want me to catch you with?" she asked, nose crinkling in mischief.

He walked her to a mirror. "Well ,she's about my height,and blonde, and has the loveliest eyes..."

"Pfft." she slapped his shoulder.

Just then they heard a baritone rumble from where it's owner leaned against the doorframe,

"And judging by the crease in her left trouser pocket, she has already counted out the exact amount of cash for the present she has picked her beloved..."

"Shhh! You'll spoil it!" Mary gasped, and the Watsons turned to see Sherlock, with the evening snow having settled, like fragments of glass, in his wind -tossed, raven tempest- of- hair, silky blue scarf coming loose and draping about him like a prayer shaw, eyes glittering in the dimly lit office. His dark coat was drawn about him,like a bird folds its wings in,and his high cheek bones had a reddish tinge ,like dusk.

It didn't take the deductive skills of Sherlock Holmes to conclude that he had probably walked a good part of the way here. Very bored, then.

"So, let me just thank you again for looking after him, Mrs. Watson ! His naptime is at 4, his bedtime's at 8, he really could use a lullably, I packed a "Classic Violin Solos" cd in with his jammies,and his teddy,and-"John joked, taking Mary by the hands,and smiling.

Sherlock,puffed."I get it,I'm a child. But ,I thought I was the one supposed to be escorting your princess around London for the rest of the evening?Sounds like bad judgement on your part, entrusting her care to a "toddler"."

John laughed,and came and handed Sherlock some article he'd clipped from the newspaper."You may want to talk to this jeweler, about his problem. Could be a slightly interesting case?"

"Thanks, but I solved it on the way here, it's why I walked, -I told him everything,and then Lestrade walked across the street,from where he was having coffee,and put the janitor in hand cuffs. Of course it was the janitor- it was glaringly obvious that he was the only one in the shop that wore black nail polish, and the ring with the missing stone had black paint chips around it!"

"Obvious-to you."John said pointedly. "The rest of us are not so clever. So , see, Mary, this is my point, exactly. You 're in the best hands."

"Want us to bring you something to eat when we come back by?" she laughed, trying to ignore how Sherlock muttered about the stupidity of how obvious that had been.

"Wouldn't want to get an accidental peek at all the presents you'll be getting. How about I meet you both at that new Thai place that just opened?"

Sherlock and Mary gave each other some kind of strange, mischievous glance that John still hadn't figured out yet.

"Yeah, sure." Mary said.

"Why not!"Sherlock said, trying too hard to sound enthusiastic.

"Oi, Sherlock, it's Christmas!Try to behave!" John gasped, exasperated.

"Never going to happen."Mary laughed, Sherlock already walking out.

"Come on, Mary, the Doctor has patients he needs to see."

John rollled his eyes .There was nobody in the practice.

"You didn't walk-you rode a motorcycle!"Mary cried,and John heard it from the door,and came out to see it.

Sherlock put their helmets on,and winked at John, "Safety first."

"Where'd you?-"

"Gift of the Yard, wanted to make me a little more mobile, so I can do their dirty work more efficently."he laughed,"Believe it or not they all chipped in, even Donovan."

"As close to an apology as you will ever come."

Sherlock reved it up.

"More stylish." he jeered, and Mary blew a kiss.

"Be very jealous, love!" she called.

The day would continue to be very uneventful, until, with no more shots to give,and only cleaning up to do, John made the mistake of turning the waiting room's tv on...


	2. Chapter 2 A Second Time Not to Die

**Chapter 2: Second Time Not to Die~**

John didn't wait for a cab. He ran, all the way to the train station. Or more preciscely ,he flew.

The police had intercepted the situation. The car chase had been stopped. He could hear Greg shouting his name. But he couldn't stop, he couldn't.

Because he saw what the police had not seen. One stray black car had found it's way out of the line up ,and had found it's way onto the TRACKS.

John heard people shouting , he felt arms tearing at him, but nobody could hold him back.

For the new black motocycle ,that the Yard had chipped in to buy, was speeding, with its two riders still on it, straight for the back of the tube, that seemed to be fleeing the scene of the crime.

And the car was speeding ,until it was going as fast as it could. Sherlock half-way stood up on the bike, and Mary looked back. There was no out this they would be smashed into the train by the suicidal car, or the train would suck them under it.

John screamed, something unintelligible. He couldn't form their names ,or even a thought. His breath was sucked out of him, and his lungs felt like gas had been ciphened back into them, to burn away the oblivion left behind. He was about to watch Sherlock die for the second time, and this time Mary was going with him.

Only Sherlock, as everyone should know by now, simply is not killed so easily. He had ,apparently, learned a few tricks during his Hiatus.

He turned the bike on it's side,and somehow managed to slide it in the tiny space between the tube's wheels,and the tracks. The sleek black metal was suddenly throwing sparks, which is all that the policemen, the by-standers, and the reporters witnessed. John saw,-as if God had given him the gift of revelation- what nobody else did.

Sherlock managed to roll himself on top of Mary, and protectively pin her down, somewhere in the middle of the force of the swift moving train pushed them down the metallic stream, and sparks went up,a bike,and a blood-stained long black cloak, were spat back out, and were the evidence apoun which the others blamed the multi- murder of the Watson couple,and of Sherlock Holmes.

Because John's feet took off with him,as if swept up in the steel current,determined to pluck them free of the teeth of the railroad, when ever the train thundered on down the line. That is, IF they lived.

The car ,however, shattered like windows all over the line, and there was such a buzz of confusion,it was assumed John was killed when he tried to reach his friend,and his wife.

The train ,though, rattled on, and a buzz was going on with it's conducter, to stop it at a nearer station, for a police investigation. Somewhere in the middle, John was left, panting, because he couldn't shriek to summon banshees, having fallen to his knees beside the rail lines.

There was only one terrible moment, where he felt like the railway was like chains holding down the river of Life,that now ran through his dismal-shady hell. He felt anger boil in him like Vesuvius' rage, at Sherlock for doing this again, but not _at_ Sherlock, because it was clearly not his fault. He felt like so many things were left unsaid. He wished he could run a hand through Mary's soft hair, ...one more time.

And then he snapped to attention. Had heard a sound. Of a cough. Of someone relaxing from a strained position.

"Aren't you glad your husband makes us wear these silly helmets?" said Sherlock, tossing them to the side. They were fryed anyway.

Mary coughed, Sherlock had been holding her down flush with the rail ,by her waist,and had smashed her lungs a bit.

"Clearly you have no idea how to hold a woman, Sherlock..." she whined.

"Ah, a bit awkward ,this." he agreed, and sat up, easing her to sitting.

They were both startled when John crowed,and ran to them both. Unable to decide which one to sieze in a smothering embrace, he fell on both of them, knocking them back into the position they recently occupied.

"I don't mean to uhmm...burst the emotional bubble, but..well, the lines really aren't the place for..."

"Sherlock! SHUT UP!" John gasped,and pulled him closer.

Mary giggled, "You're always the third wheel ,aren't you?" she said, poking Sherlock in the ribs, somewhere under John's arm.

"Oi, Mary ,you shut up ,too!" John gasped. " Just... both of you, hush,and let me catch my breath!"

And by that he meant, let him count their breaths, until he convinced himself they were breathing...


	3. Chapter 3 The Call That Broke Ice Man

**Chapter 3:The Call That Broke The Ice Man~**

Mycroft's work for the day was done. Deaths were confirmed. His parents had gone missing. Somehow they were behind the summoning of the black cars that had sped Sherlock ,and young Miss Watson too!, onward to their graves.

It had been an innocent endeavor, the outing that lead to their demise. A brief visit to his parents, pretending to fetch something he'd left at their house, but really to get gift ideas. Sherlock had called Mycroft earlier, to that end.

"Do you remember if Mum already has a water filter?"

"Oh, I see, you're doing me the favor of doing the tedious task of the Christmas shopping..."

"If being very bored,and being coerced into babysitting John Watson's little wife is your idea of a personal favor. You must truly think you rule the world..." Sherlock purred, not meaning to be as malicious as he sounded. Mycroft heard Mary giggling. He smiled. Something inexplicable passed through his thought couldn't call it a"feeling", but it was a thought. Though he had yet to meet John's young wife, she seemed to have really endeared herself to Sherlock. Almost like a sister...

"Well, only part of it ,brother mine..."

"Answer the question-phone calls with you are so incredibly boring,and I would like to hang up soon."

Of course he didn't mean it. Mycroft smiled. That too, was comical, to him. That the closest he and his brother could come to affection, was this constant feuding.

Because they were too cold for feeling. The harshness was as close to a brother's bantering affection that they could come. They couldn't bring themselves to put a stop to it ,either, because then they would become too cold, too lifeless,and lose one another forever.

It hadn't always been like this, there was something ,something when they were young. Before Sherlock's accident...Which Mycroft couldn't well remember, because it had been traumatic, and he had nearly died,and so they didn't talk about it.

"Oi, I don't know, why don't you just ask them?..."

"Mycroft, according to the Watsons, Christmas presents are supposed to be a suprise. It's ...some tradition people made. I guess because they are too polite to tell the person outright their idea of a gift is terrible, so not to waste money on it."

" Then , Sherlock, buy them something, and if they already have one, return thought is what counts. Isn't that what people say?"

"Only because people don't think, don't pay attention to details..."

Mycroft shook his head."Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, brother mine. It seems as though the Prime Minister is on the line. I shall have to call you back?"

"You won't be able to help him either,and don't-"

Sherlock then hung up in his head.

"Goodbye, Sherlock."Mycroft laughed to the silence,and then answered the Prime Minister on the other line.

That would be the last time, in this life, Mycroft Holmes would speak to his little brother...

He was on his knees in his office, panting, about to throw up the doughnut he had neglected to answer his phone over. Why, oh why didn't he answer the phone?

Anthea stood patiently in the doorway, having just delivered the news.

"The policeman, his friend,says maybe he can arrange a way to let you keep his coat?"

"Oh, burn it!"Mycroft gasped,and Anthea, suddenly almost frightened by his pent up ice and fire, floated from the room.

Mycroft continued kneeling there, stomach churning like the hurdy gurdies of gypsies ,on their last march to execution. Why did he not answer the phone?Why couldn't he have bothered himself with his saucy-tounged-annoying-absolutely BELOVED little brother, just one more time?"

Stupid...

But then, even though he hadn't been wishing, nor begging like Doctor Watson(who wasn't too proud to beg)he had received an unlooked for miracle- a phone call, from, well, you know...

"SHERLOCK!"

"So, about the Christmas present, I say we might as well hang it. Did Anthea tell you that Mummy tried to shoot me this afternoon?See,it was a simple observation, cleary you were her favorite. Maybe you can reason with her.."

"WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES, WHERE IN THE NAME OF THE HOLY GOD ARE YOU?!"

"In your lobby,about to ring the door-bell. Oh never mind ,it's broken. Your secretary was being harassed by someone,and ripped it out of the wall, it even has scratch marks, from a table knife."

Mycroft's lips formed a firm line. And then he ran to the room in question.

To find Sherlock, all bloodied and looking like he'd stuck his tounge in a wall socket, with his tousled hair, and the Watsons, not fairing much better in appearance,standing in his lobby. John was crunching on a peppermint from Anthea's little dish. Mary was poking at some fancy looking device on the table.

Mycroft stopped dead in his tracks. He'd never met her before. Now that he saw her, she reminded him very much of a woman that he remembered from his very early childhood. A woman that had given him,and her children up, to save their lives.

"Mum..." he whispered.

"What are you on about, Myc?"Sherlock coughed.

Mary looked confused, John looked up.

"Sherlock! Yes, sorry about your mum, Myc..." John gasped, misunderstanding.

"No...no...it's..."Mycroft drew closer to Mary.

"Sherlock...I think we have alot we need to discuss...Including your accident."

"Doctor Watson has battered me with examinations already ,so there's no need..."

"You really should go to bloody hospital ,Sher-"

"Gentlemen! No,Sherlock, I mean the accident when you were a child."

Sherlock went white...


	4. Chapter 4 Sherrinford Jane Reilly Holmes

**Chapter 4:Meet Sherrinford Jane Reilly Holmes**

They all went back via private car to Mycroft's home-or one of them- Sherlock didn't actually know where he _really _lived. Mycroft let them freshen up ,and had them fitted with new clothes,and his housekeeper(because he actually had one) sworn to secrecy. If the three of them were supposedly dead, it'd be best to stay that way for a while, to avoid actually dying later.

Then they gathered in Mycroft's living room, around the fire, and Sherlock folded his legs up into the couch, John sat next to him,and Mary laid her head in John's lap, having been a bit more roughed up in her ordeal than she was letting on. Mycroft sat across from them, in the big arm chair, with a brandy for his nerves, as Sherlock began to make deductions as to the present, and Mycroft gently prodded him towards delving into the past.

"Your drug addiction began when you were a small boy, do you remember?"

"Wait, WHAT?!" John asked, horrified.

Sherlock swallowed. "The accident, left me physically traumatized. My body must have been too small for a strong enough dose to cut the pain I was experiencing...And so I began to take too much..."

Mycroft nodded..."As a doctor,and a medically discharged soldier, you know how easily one can become physically dependent on pain medication.."

John gulped. The thought of his friend,a child,and in pain, was troubling. The thought of him a junkie-in-the-making,at 7 years old, was also unsettling. And tonight had been full of reasons to be disturbed.

"What accident?"he asked, figuring they might as well do this. Sherlock's eyes were closed..

Mycroft swallowed."I couldn't bare to watch my brother suffer , so we began to expirment in the "brain sciences" as we called it,ways to use our intellect, -as his observation and deductive skills had already proved genius- for more productive purposes (than PTSD,you also know ,Doctor, how debilitating that is). We,learned a way to wipe -most of it anyway-from our memory."

"Yes..."John gave Sherlock an empathetic glance. But the detective was busy solving his own murder. And he was currently reliving his nightmare.

He flinched,and grunted, something like a whimper, but deeper,and it was so unlike him that Mary flinched,and John leaned over,and laid a hand on his shoulder...

"Sherlock..." he called,and Sherlock came back to them.

"It was a fire...One I was only burned in partial places, but they were excruciating burns...It was a building I had no reason to be in...except...I was trying to get Sherrinford away from someone."

"Sherrinford?That trouble maker." Mycroft groaned.

"Sherrinford, isn't that your brother.?The one that we don't talk about cuz he did something REALLY bad." John asked.

Mary sat up. "Sherrinford?" she asked,almost frightened, with a tiny voice,as if she knew this name. All eyes fell on her.

Sherlock smiled sadly,"No...Mycroft, our brother -our _adopted _brother, -remember we were adopted into an MI6 witness protection program,and our foster parents assumed the names of our birth parents-and their son assumed the name of our sibling, which they wanted to be assumed was a boy. Their son was one Lindor Key, and "Mum" and "Dad" are Mr. and Mrs. Key. Sherrinford Jane Reilly Holmes...was our sister. My fraternal twin sister, whose abduction I had solved, and sabatoged ,at the age of 7..."

Mary swallowed,and looked at John, who was looking between the Holmes brothers in renewed wonder.

"John, the day our car was bombed, and I was forced to tell you about my past as an assasin, do you remember?" she gasped, turning the men's attention her way.

John had tried to forget that day. It had been on a frightening case that Sherlock was helping them solve, a string of serial bomb plantings in their part of London. He had been the one to discover Mary used to be a British agent,and a master assasin...John had been really angry-angry that she had lied to him. He spent a few days at Sherlock's flat; she stayed with a few girlfriends. Then it had been forgiven,and forgotten.

"I couldn't forget..." he said, sheepishly.

She took his hand, eyes watering, afraid of how he was going to react to this.

"My name, my REAL name, the one you didn't want to know ,so my past could be my own business?...Was Sherrinford Jane Reilly..."

John felt the wind forced out of him. Sherlock smiled. Slowly, delighted. As if this was obvious.

"I thought you were familiar..."

Mycroft was scratching his chin. "It will take lab work to confirm."

Sherlock nodded. "I have a friend who can help us..."

He texted Molly ,a simple message.

"Dont believe the telly. I'm alive, obviously or I wouldn't be texting you. Your in the lab?"-SH

And she texted back, "SHERLOCK!THANK GOD! Yeah,why?"-MH

"Want to help me with a case?"-SH

"Of course :) "MH

Sherlock smiled. "Ok, she'll do it."

"This is actually happening..."John gasped.

Mary shook her head..."What's more, my parents told me my brother died in a fire..."


	5. Chapter 5 Blood Will Tell

**Chapter 5: Blood Will Tell~**

They took a short, silent ride in the car to Bart's. Mycroft sat up front with their driver,and Sherlock and the Watsons, sat in the back. Everyone was distracted with their own thoughts.

John sat in between the two people he cared the most for in the entire world. He wondered how it had escaped him for so long that they were related? Other than it was impossible. But of course, the way they had merged together, like they had been seperated for a long time,and not like they had only just begun to know each other. And how they were so much alike, in subtle ways...

So much had happened today that John's stomach was buzzing. Mary laid her head on his shoulder. Not "Mary" he reminded himself."Sherrinford", actually. Sherlock must have read his thoughts.

"If we have drawn the right conclusion, which it is very unlikely that we have not, then ...I just need to say..."

Everyone waited for Sherlock's very first, new life experience attempt ,at trying to express emotions. But, at least, they knew not to hold their breath.

"That Sherrinford is a bloody awful-simply dreadful-terrible name for a woman, and our parents were tripping harder than I ever did when they named all three of us, so we will resume calling you Mary Watson.

Seeing as you technically are not a Holmes but a Watson, now that you married John."

She smiled at John, who smiled back, "God, I married a Holmes."

"You married _two,_actually." Mary teased.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and looked out the window. John reached his arm around him,and leaned close to speak directly in his ear, which Mary still heard, but he apparently didn't want Mycroft to,

"You ok? I mean, there's obviously a disconnect,you didn't remember you even had a sister until tonight..."

Sherlock swallowed, looked down at him. "Oh, actually ,I did. Only I thought she only existed in my dreams...Like an imaginary friend, that's what kids do, isn't it? And then there was the infamous day that I overdosed. So, a lot of those dreams faded,..."

John cringed,"This story has so many holes..."

"Not a story. A case. The Holmes Case."Sherlock said, huffing. "And one in which I am my own client, mmm, this should be fun." He nodded, actually being sarcastic about that, though John could understand. It wasn't so much fun when it's your own head you have to wade through, your own mind and memory you have to fight with...

~~They had to wait for a while to even begin the labwork. As soon as Molly caught a glimpse of the detective,she pounced him, clinging to him like a child. "You were dead, they showed it on telly-the bike sucked under the train, and there were sparks..., a lot of them, and... that time you were really dead...And-you-you weren't coming back-and" she was sobbing. This was Molly's equivalent of the Reichenbach Fall. "And this time wasn't even your fault ,so I can't slap you..but I really WANT to slap you-sorry!...Just...you were dead!"She was chewing at her lip,straining , him being much taller than her now made more obvious to the eye. He the bowed over her so she'd strain less, and allowed her to cling to him for a long time. "Not dead, really. It's alright..."

"Why,why were they trying to kill you?And Mary too, oh God!-are you ok,Mary?..And,Sherlock...Do you have to go away again?"

This time Sherlock looked very unsure of himself. "I don't know." he said in a choked voice. "I hope not...I never wanted..." he looked down, Molly laid a hand on his cheek.

"Anything...you need...You said...you needed,my help?"

When they explained their situation, and what Sherlock and Mycroft's foster parents had done, Molly's eyes were huge,and looked at Mary.

"Uhh...ok, we can...we can do a blood test, it'll take a while , but..."She bit her lip."Oh my God, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, they need to know you're ok!"

Sherlock nodded,"But no one else can know we're alive.I...think I want Greg here...he and I need to talk,..."

They ran the blood test. And Molly asked for Mycroft and Sherlock's blood too. Sherlock was dialing Greg,and offered his arm without blinking like he didn't even feel the needle, of course because he was so used to needles... John stood silently by, wondering what kind of horrifying past his best mate,and his wife had laying behind was becoming swiftly clear -like the calling of God even- that it was his responsibility to save them from a likewise dark future.

Before he even knew his phone had rung, Greg walked into the morgue. Had come to see Molly. It turned out Greg had been recently divorced-she left-and he and Molly had been dating. He was trying,(and failing) not to cry. Gave a faint yelp when he saw his friends, like he didn't know which one to hug first. John took a few strides forward,and hugged him instead,as he nearly collapsed on the floor.

"Hey,you wanna really blow your mind?Studies are showing that my wife is my best mate's long lost twin sister!Go figure!"

Molly nodded. "Their DNA is all a very close match. She is THE Sherrinford. For sure."

Greg stood up, clinging to John,and looking him in the eyes, tears pouring down his face.

"What?!"

John laughed, "Oi,and it's Christmas..."

Sherlock stepped forward, "I need to talk with you...about...a case...My case..."

"You...need to...?" Greg was shaking when John let go of him,and let him throw his arms around Sherlock.

"A case?But Sherlock, your coat was SOAKED in blood, your bike was smashed to BITS. You were dead...Good and proper. Dead ."

John huffed, "Another miracle, all the time. God must love me!" he laughed Greg buried his face in Sherlock's shoulder."DEAD!" he cried,and the sound was absorbed by Sherlock's bones.

"Well...not now...Not now,it's alright now..."Sherlock said,and pulled him close in turn. "Not dead ...now."


	6. Chapter 6 How Men Became Machines

**Chapter 6: How Men Became Machines~**

The next thing they decided to do was form a case. Since Sherlock was usually given the files,and asked to solve from them, Greg brought him to the Yard to interrogate him,and form a file that he would ,in turn, solve himself. With him came Mycroft, John and Mary. And Sergeant Donovan, sworn to secrecy, was brought in as witness.

"Ok, Sherlock."Greg began, shuffling the papers. "So, first, tell me...what you can remember?...about the day you had your accident?Why were you in that warehouse on the Thames? Who had your sister?"

John shifted ,uncomfortably. Mycroft and Mary sat stairing into Oblivion. Neither could remember a single thing, Mary being too traumatized, why they did not yet know,and Mycroft having strategically wiped it from his mind.

But Sherlock's mind was almost too brilliant for his own good,and it began to remember. He looked up suddenly, and the stoic detective they knew vanished from their young man was terrified, like somebody coming to from a coma. His eyes, silver and green all at once,were on fire,as if they were florescent, with sudden unwept tears. His mouth opened,and closed, in a silence as loud as lions. John licked his lips, suddenly very nervous at the sight of was not his Sherlock. He reached,and discreetly took his shaking hand in one of his own, like a doctor sometimes does for a dying patient.

"Sherlock?" Greg asked, throat having shrunk. This image ,of his almost robotic consoltant, and friend, was very unsettling.

" Not, my mother..."Sherlock's mouth gaped then, remembering something their darkest nightmares never witnessed. His teeth pointed almost like fangs in the expression of his agony.

John squeezed his hand. In response, he gasped, and swallowed, still fighting, frightened by his supressed emotion.

"My mother...Chaya Goldier- Holmes, the daughter of a man who escaped Auschwitz,and later became an agent of Britain, had stolen a file-gave it to his daughter- plot for a secret vendetta the remaining Nazi's had for the Queen of England, who escaped them. An assasination plan...only...with...torture...like..." Sherlock swallowed a sob, that sounded more like a dying gasp. And then Mycroft began to remember too, and let a harsh breath,hiding his mouth in his hand.

"Like they performed on my mother...when she wouldn't..."Sherlock's eyes fluttered,and roamed the room, "Killed my mother...made me watch! Then,they wanted my sister... I wouldn't tell them where- but I knew...I knew where.I promised to come back for her-they took me, tried to get me to tell them where...I hid her...And...when I wouldn't tell them," suddenly he laughed, a sharp, hysterical laugh, "They burned me!And I nearly died...My sister..."Suddenly Sherlock was animal-desperate. Reached across the table and siezed Greg by the jacket. Greg's blood had gone cold.

"What...what happened to her?! Is she..." he was trembling,almost going into convulsions.

"She's here,... with us, that's why we're doing this..."Sally said ,slowly,feeling faint. Sherlock gave Greg a super-human shake, just one ,but enough to make his eyes roll.

"I FAILED her. They must have gotten her...she wasn't in the hiding spot..."His mouth gaped,and he let go. "Oh God...what have I..what have I DONE?! My sister...God knows what they..."

He leaped to his feet. "I FAILED her!" he wailed. "And _you!_," he spun on Mycroft viciously, who let out a choked sob, and tried not to look at him,as he menacingly paced around him, like a snake in hot ashes, "You _saved_ me,from that fire... You _forgave _me! _CURSE YOU!" _he slapped the desk, and everyone flinched. He wasn't just distraught. He was manic. "You saved me...You taught me-gave me the power to create the machine that I am!"

John felt his heart squeezing the breath out of him, coiling in his chest like a viper, "Alright, stop it now!" he gasped.

"I FAILED!" Sherlock shouted, "And was allowed to live, even for my sin! We went into the Key family's home. Lindor pretended to be our brother, until he killed..oh never mind. Has to matter, doesn't it?But the Keys hated me, because of all the posions, because of the experiments, because of what I turned my genius in to,the skills I created, using your research!" he hissed in Mycroft's ear. His elder brother was biting back tears."

"I became a machine, and used the posion to change my blood to oil, with the needles. To become a machine, to forget... Until I took too much...And _-curse you!_- if you didn't end up saving me AGAIN! WHY?! WHY COULDN'T YOU . ?! Meddlesome...brother...mine. "Sherlock's voice died away in a hiss...

Mycroft looked up from his threatening tears. "I did it because I loved you, you were still my little brother... despite your needles."

"I am no one's brother! I can't be loved, or even hated! I don't have feelings, I don't have friends! I AM A MACHINE!" he cried,voice gone.

Even Sally was on the verge of tears now.

"And you...you should have let me die...Why did you let me live?"

Mycroft smiled sadly, "Because God was watching, Sherlock. He saw...that Sherry was still alive. She's here-don't you see- we've finally found her again, we finally remember what we swore to forget..."

Sherlock was panting, turned around sharply, "I don't see! I only know my failure! What is the machine that doesn't serve its uses! Why didn't you..."

"Because you were my brother, a man after my own heart."

"A man?! Ha, I am not HUMAN! I don't even bleed!"

"Wrong!, all wrong..."John cried, leaping to his feet, having had enough. "You are the most _human _human that I have ever known...and I saw you bleed, all over the side walk...all over the..."

He took 3 strides,and took Sherlock in his arms, who was suddenly softly crying, wretchedly.

"It's ok...It's over now..."he said, making him stoop ,propping his head on his shoulder.

Mary stood up, "No, no you are _very_ human. Of course...you're my "Sherbert."

Sherlock responded in shock to the childhood nickname. "Sh-sherry! You...you're..."

Sherlock Holmes grew light in the head, nearly (only nearly) passing out. And then, covering his mouth, like he was going to vomit, he ran from the room, the Watsons at his heels.

Mycroft bowed over his knees,and softly cried into them.

Greg handed Sally his notes,and quietly asked her to type a file.

Sally Donovan would not sleep that night. And she would never call Sherlock Holmes a "freak" again...


	7. Chapter 7 And How Machines Bleed

**Chapter 7 : And How Machines Bleed~**

Sherlock's head was spinning with a billion memories, and deductions, and the deductions serving as the dull attempt at a distraction from the whirlwind that the fire he'd long supressed inside him, was waking into motion. For Sherlock realized that he was holocaust, in part. Wondered what part of this all Jim Moriarty had known, wondered why the Keys had tired of him to the point of finally trying to kill him, wondered how Sherrin-(scratch that tedious name:Sherry ,aka:Mary Watson) had survived.

Was in darkness, had been for most of his life. There had only been two glimpses of light in the enitre 33 years he had drawn breath after painful breath. He called them his Dawn- early days when Mum and Dad were still alive( he was yet in the dark about what happened to his father...) and Mycroft was still his friend,and Sherry was there,and safe, and a bubbly little girl, stuck in between two genius,abnoxious brothers. And his Dusk- like a second dawn, like an evening star-the days of his life with John Watson, which had brought his life to a full circle,and a close at the Reichenbach Fall, which he considered his life's end ( he had ended,for John).

Now he was pacing, like a horse in a cage, head on fire, heart too hollow to tell what it felt, face hot with quiet tears. Hands tearing through his hair, like the wind slices through tree boughs, in the depths of the night.

"Sherlock..."John gasped, at the sight of him. He looked up, with a jolt. His lips were clenched,and white, trying not to dirty himself with vomit.

"Tell me...what I need to do, whatever I need to do-to fix all of this- I will bleed, I will bleed rivers,John!"

John took Sherlock by the shoulders.

"LOOK at me."

Sherlock did, and let out a harsh breath. John nodded, "The first thing you need to do is make peace with your brother,and then, you need to come back in here, so we can hear Mary's side of it, -sounds like you're starting to remember?What kinda nickname is Sherbert anyway?" he turned to Mary at the end of that sentence, the last bit coming out like a strangled laugh.

"The Little Sherlock that I knew,had a bit of an addiction to something as tame as ice cream."Mary giggled, now in tears,at the thought of her twin brother, that she had only remembered her whole life from being told he was dead, and they had always called him "Billy"(knowing now that Sherlock's first name was actually William ,this made sense...)

"Oh, Sherlock." she laughed, looking at the still bordering on manic young detective, "You were such an adorable little boy. My very favorite-I played with you more than I did my schoolmates."

Sherlock blinked, not remembering much about his childhood. The only thing he could clearly remember(other than what he'd just confessed) was his dream to be a pirate,and that Redbeard, his faithful dog, sailed right beside him, and ,when not sailing, nuzzled him, when he hurt ,and wanted more of the medicine he knew he shouldn't be taking by himself. He smiled. Before John ,there had only been one other being that had fully accepted him, and that was old Redbeard...

Just then,Mycroft was crossing the room ,like a knife sliding through paper, and threw his arms around him.

"Let me NEVER hear you say, that you don't bleed again. I watched,I was there for every moment of your Hiatus, if you recall..."

John swallowed a great lump in his throat, but Mycroft wasn't done,

"I bleed too ,you know, even if it's only colorless water, from my icy heart. And NEVER dare to ask me such a thing as you just did..EVER again. Never. How could I save you? How could I NOT? My flesh may be ice, but you are still my very flesh, and I love you,Sherlock, do you understand?"

Sherlock nodded wildly, "I'm...I'm ...ummm...sorry, Myc."

Mycroft stood up straight,and straightened his jacket. Sherlock rubbed his fist into his tears, unaware that the wetness on his face was considered crying-he thought his headache was causing his eyes to water.

"We are a family," Mycroft said, pulling his twins,and their adopted brother/brother- in- law,in under his arms, like gathering them in for a secret.

"One heart feeds off of our many veins. Never forget that when you go letting some blood, siblings mine."

John smiled ,realizing he was just officially annexed into the Holmes family, by the oldest living male.

"He's got the brains, so lets be his braun, whilst he is yet weak. And no, don't try to argue that , Sherlock, it's not an insult, -your knees are knocking, to prove my point! There's shame in being human, so long as one submits to reason. But if you weren't utterly traumatized by witnessing the murder-" his throat grew tight, "of our mother, there would be something WRONG with you, then. Now, enough tears, enough madness. Shall we solve this case?"

They all nodded in unison,and Sherlock grinned, impishly,

"Ohohoh, yes we shall!This one isn't just utterly fascinating...It's personal."

Leading the way, he stormed back into the room where Greg sat still,dejected.


	8. Chapter 8 Sherrinford's Salvation

**Chapter 8: Sherrinford's Salvation~**

"Ok, so, we don't wanna know about your days as an assassin. That's outside my division..."

Sherlock was pacing the room ,like a tiger on watch duty. "For once it's beneficial when you say that!" he cried in exasperation, throwing a hand in the air.

Any other time, Greg would have been irritated by this outburst. But knowing now what he knew about Sherlock, he couldn't be angry with even his most off-putting traits. The kid was just very ,very misunderstood, and clearly no one had ever sought to help him. Not even his foster parents, which was the question of the day...

"Ok, so Mary..." Greg continued, taking her hand. Now that it was her turn, and she could remember, she was scared. John was holding her around the waste, feeling the bruises Sherlock had accidently put there.

"It's ok..."Greg whispered, as Mary's eyes went wide with terror. "What can you remember about the day of Sherlock's accident? About the day your foster family told you your brother "Billy" died..."

Mary swallowed. "Mum, -and by "Mum" I mean Chaya-had taken us to the park. Redbeard was just a puppy, and liked to chew on things a little too much-" Sherlock's ears pricked .He would have to delete any theories of the Keys trying to play with his head ,by giving him a pet they turned around and made him put down. Cleary Redbeard had been his before he went to live with them.

"He was a _little _puppy, like he still fit in Mum's book bag. She loved to read,and take pictures. When she and Dad -and when I say "Dad", I mean Nigel Holmes, an MI6 officer,and trained assasin that my Mum met while they were working on a mission together-anyway, when she and Dad got out , we were relocated, all 6 of us(if you count Redbeard) by Dad's superiors ,into Outer London. I actually don't really remember where exactly we lived, I mean me and Sherlock were only 7, (I am 3 hours older than Sherlock,and always held that over his head when we were little,and I wanted to be bossy). But Mum had opened a studio, and ,for practice ,she was gonna take me and Sherlock's pictures-Mycroft was at a friends house for the day, not very far from the old home on the river ,with a really cool old garden, and a view of the old warehouse in the background, that had been converted into a playground-where she was taking these pictures..."

Sherlock froze midstep,and clutched the table, remembering this detail,

"_Sherlock, darling! You aren't LOOKING at the camera!"_

_"Baby, look in the lense, Mummy wants to see your lovely eyes in her pictures."_

_"Oi, Sherlock, It took me 9 months to make your gorgeous little face, now will you turn it towards the BLASTED lense?!"_

His mother... her long dark, curly hair. He had gotten his hair from his mother, his fine cheekbones from his father, and his eyes were a mixture of both. Mary had her daddy's eyes, huge and blue, and her hair was more auburn than blonde as a little girl(she kept it dyed now, Sherlock had suspected this for a long time).

"_See, Sherlock, dear, Sherrinford is smiling! She likes this, don't you ,darling?Even Redbeard is smiling, and he's only a tiny puppy! Ok, we'll take a break for a minute, so we can eat lunch. Mummy's gonna run to the truck real quick and get it. I bought you some figs, Sherlock, you like those, yeah?Bubbeh Goldier's favorite! Try not to look so cross, I don't make you take pictures all the time..."_

Mary swallowed now, trying, and failing, not to cry. John clutched her closer, full of dread.

"She never came back..."

"_Oi, what's TAKING her so long! Wanna get this over, so I can try out my new magnifying glass..."_

_"Why can't we play detective WITHOUT it?"_

_"Because a proper detective needs one..."_

_"We don't need a glass, we need a Redbeard. He can smell the nasty blokes out..."_

_Which is exactly what he did._

"Redbeard got nervous,and started to yip and whine."Mary recalled. "Sherlock went to see what was taking forever, and when he came back his face was white."

"_What?"_

_"Sherry...Mum's not at the truck..."_

_"Not?But she said.."Sherrinford got scared,and started to cry._

_"The nasty blokes.."Sherlock whispered."Sherry come on...I need you and Redbeard to stake out for me..."_

"There was this really beautiful bird-bath statue thing in the garden,called the "Baptism of Christ" that had a statue depicitng the Christ rising from baptism, with a dove seated on His palm. And between his feet was a bird-bath, that had long ago dryed up. Sherlock stuck me down inside of it,and put Redbeard squirming on my lap,and buried us in leaves...Then he went to see where Mum was gone, or rather..."Mary started to cry,and Sherlock bowed his head, raven hair falling over his face like curtains at the show's end.

"_Alright ,Mr. Christ, Sir." Sherlock was chewing his lip,"Look out for them. I'll be right back..."_

_"Sherlock?!"_

_"Stay here, and keep an eye out. And don't let the puppy follow me...he'll only make noises."_

_"Sher-"_

_"Stay!It's alright."_

Mary was looking at Sherlock now with an expression that could only be described as love.

"You -and the Christ statue-saved my life that day. And I never got to thank you, or even tell you I was ok. The last time I saw you, you were in a coma, not expected to wake up. But to ease your mind atlast, Redbeard got really scaired and started to howl. Mycroft and Winsor, his friend from down the street, heard the awful noise,and had seen mum's truck. And then... Mycroft smelled smoke. Winsor ran and got his parents, to call firefighters;Mycroft ran full blast for the burning warehouse, and..and found you...He was only 14, it was so hard!..."Mary was shaking her head...and swallowed."Winsor,-bless him!-had the sense to dial our dad from his house, and he came flying on two wheels. By then I was at Winsor's house,and his mum had given me cocoa,and tried to calm me down,-I was completely hysterical! And after...when Mum was buried,and they pulled the plug on your life support, Dad rejoined MI6. He left Mycroft with you, because he couldn't bare to leave you while you were passing, even if you didn't know you were alone...But he took me with him...Which was the start of my career as an assasin-in-training..."

Mycroft nodded. "Might 've joined you later. But Sherlock, eventually, woke up."

"How?"John asked, absolutely dumbstruck by this story.

Sherlock laughed,"Redbeard..."


	9. Chapter 9 Redbeard,MD

**Chapter 9: Redbeard,M.D.**

"S'pose it's your turn then?"Greg gasped, turning to Mycroft. John look up nervously at Sherlock, who was pacing again, madly , thoughts racing. What sort of beautiful disaster was going on in the palace of his mind? John feared the falling of Pompeii, Troy,and Atlantis combined could come no where near the mark.

"What do you remember about the day of your brother's "accident"? About the day your mother was murdered, and after?" Greg continued.

Mycroft closed his eyes,as frightening images came back,

_"Blast it, Mycroft! Why couldn't you be more devoted to exercise?!", his thoughts silently screamed at then there were no thoughts at all, the pounding of his heart in his head had drowned them out, as if the tempest had touched down in his blood, whilst he ran._

_Little brother, only a child, a small, and scrawny, and genius-distracted one at that...Was trapped in a burning building._

_"He's clever, he knows where to hide..."_

_When Mycroft got in he realized though, that the building hadn't been set on fire. It had caught on fire, whilst their intent was to burn..._

_He found his little brother, lying under a table he had crawled under when his torment had been completed..._

"OH!"he cried, coming back from the memory, and standing up so fast,he knocked the table over, scattering papers everywhere. Sherlock immediately stooped mid-pace,and started gathering them. John joined him, so he could crawl close,and lay a hand over his shaking one. Met his gaze. These two had learned to speak without words, and he needed him to know that it was ok, that the past was over. That he was here now, no matter what happened through out all this, he was here with him, to stay. Sherlock looked up, eyes still red from crying, however he had tried to fight the tears. He smiled smugly,as if to reassure John ,who really wasn't the one who needed that now.

"Oh,dreadfully sorry, yes actually, sorry, just..he looked so,...he was...so ..."Mycroft was shaking by now. Sherlock and John stood the table upright again, and then Sherlock stood up till he and Mycroft were eye to eye.

_"Stupid!Not breathing, the instructor taught you CPR!"he was cursing himself aloud now._

_"No, fool!...Achh...he's so little ,and scrawny,and hurt... that might kill him...Oh, I don't know...Don't know..Sherlock!"_

_The little boy let out a tiny shriek that was muffled into a groan. He pointed a shaky hand to the ceiling, with the ciphen hose coming down from the air conditioning vents...The warehouse had been rigged into one giant gas chamber..._

_"The hose? I see it...Is that how they got this all over you,Sherlock?Its ok, your face and neck and hair aren't..."Mycroft couldn't recall what exactly it was that Sherlock had been. Had only remembered what it looked he wouldn't look at it.._

_"Let's get out of here. No, stop fighting! I know it hurts, it's ok...you're a tough little boy...its ok."_

_"MUM!"Sherlock screamed, voice almost like a toddler's ,in his fear..."Won't leave her, won't leave her!"_

_That's when Mycroft saw his mother's body..._

Greg dropped his pencil. The Holmes brothers were still standing ,glaring at each covered his mouth in his hand, at the description Mycroft gave,unconciously, aloud. "Dear GOD!"he hissed.

Mycroft laid a hand on Sherlock's face. "I may have pulled him out of our living hell,...but I couldn't save my mother...There are no remains, so there won't be physical proof she is...I'm sure my brother can find some other proof, though..." He smiled at him,and Sherlock smiled back.

"As to how he woke up again,John, it was all Redbeard's doing. The poor little pooch could simply not accept that his little master was going to die." A hush fell over the room,as Mycroft remembered the last bit aloud.

_"It's alright, old boy. Sherlock is just going to meet the angels...I'm sure he won't forget you."_

_The doctors had gone to pull the plug on that silver chord which held the raven-haired little angel in anchorage with the Earth._

_"Maybe we'll sail across the sky to see him someday...old Red."_

_The doctor's wouldn't see Mycroft place the tiny puppy on his little master's chest. The creature began to whine,and give his little dog kisses to him,all over his nose, even on his eyelids,and his mouth._

_"Not too much, you'll make his face sticky!"Mycroft scolded gently. "I might want to say goodbye too, leave me a spot, between his eyes."_

_Redbeard wouldn't allow it. Despite no medicial schooling, or any degrees, or even basic education being that he was,in fact, a very small, red dog, the creature ,in less than a minute, had treated the boy better than the burn unit's finest doctors. _

_"Mmmm...mmmycroft?" moaned the boy._

_"Sherlock!"the older boy cried,and climbed in his bed, gathering up the child,and burying his face in the unruly shadow that was his hair, kissing his scalp more than once. The puppy yipped,and Sherlock's fingers found their way, on the one hand, to his faithful creature's tiny ears, and the other to his elder brother's hand._

_"Where's Sherrinford?"_

_Mycroft drew back, looking the boy in the silver-green eyes..._


	10. Chapter 10 The Fate of Their Father

**Chapter 10: The Fate of Their Father~**

"Afterwards, there is little more to tell..."Mycroft began again, slowly. "We went into the Keys' home...And almost immediately, they detested Sherlock. It took a long time for his burns to heal, I think he was actually around 16 when they finally went away. Because of this he needed medications that were relatively expensive(which shouldn't have mattered,if they had cared about him, since they were so rich themselves). Our other brother, Lindor, we actually never really saw. He was only in and out every once and a while,and he was a drunk. Which contributed to Sherlock's problem, the child simply couldn't find any relief for his pain, so sometimes he would steal Lindor's liquor when he was at home...I found the poor boy curled up ,in the throes of a hangover, more times than I'd care to list. To shut up his whining, Lindor gave him(and me too,actually) our first cigarette. By the time Sherlock was 13, he was addicted to narcotics, was smoking heavily,and was the occasional drunk. Kids at school were calling him "Pirate". He rationalized that if he were a pirate, he could sail away, and find Sherrinford. He'd drag Redbeard along for alot of "tree -fort ship" adventures.

Sherlock's guilt was becoming excessive,(Mrs. Key's verbal abuse didn't help with this, either,anyway...) so ,thus, his abusive habits were increasing. At my wits end, I began to teach him the "brain sciences".With hopes of maybe finding what happened to Sherrinford,and our father, and because genius must not be denied, he developed, at the age of 12, the science of deduction. Deduction was something he'd already been doing since I could remember, since he learned to speak maybe ,for all I know. But he turned it into a science,and that is when the child I knew completely disappeared ,into the beginnings of the detective you know today."

John felt like he could just break out in racking sobs, but was keeping the "soldier's lip" as he called it, on, so that he could be sure and hear,and understand ,every bit of this.

"If not for Redbeard, I would have lost him sooner. But one day, the poor dog, not really so very old even ,for whatever little breed he was-Irish Setter I thought,or a mutt,maybe- got sick. It was nothing too serious, something that would have been easily treatable. But our foster parents were cruel, and they had him put down...That's when I started teaching Sherlock to wall off his feelings. And maybe it's my fault, but he did just that. The teenage Sherlock was almost non-responsive. He had absolutley no friend but the needle in his arm.I don't think I heard him utter a word from the time he was 12 to the time he was 16.I was shocked by the big man's voice that came out of him one day, saying that he would soon be a "consulting" detective, if he could just get a high enough score on a certain test for a scholarship to the university ,eventually, he did end up at. He had his bachelor's -I'm not even kidding-already, at age 19. Would have gone on to get his master's. But ,unfortunately, our Sherlock here was flirting with needles yet. Mixing things up. One day cocaine. The next heroine..."

John was afraid of what came next...

"I came home for a visit from Uni one semester, almost done in fact, expecting my little brother to be home.I was going to take him out for the weekend, just to do a few fun(or boring) even just for a bloody smoke, I don't know...Well, the Keys had kicked him out. Wouldn't tell me where he was..."Mycroft swallowed. "This was before I had people ,just so you know. I filed a missing persons report,and went to look for my little the police learned how heavy of an addict he was, they told me he was most likely dead, and that I should make arrangments for his memorial, and they would produce me with a body whenever they had one. But I wasn't giving up..."

Sherlock interrupted to tell this part..." I actually wasn't so far from the place we'd been constrained to call our home. And you found me quite by accident.."

"Under our apple tree, feet entangled in the suicidal noose you were too strung out to even tie..."Mycroft added, somberly."When I found him, he was in a coma, ..."

John was shaking now, but Sherlock laid a hand on his shoulder."And when I woke up, I didn't remember a thing. Sherrinford was no more than an imaginary friend ,from my childhood. I attributed Mrs. Key's mouth, and Mr. Key's heavy handed blows ,as what drove me to medicinal destruction. I had forgotten the letter from my father ,nailed to the wall of my tree-fort,in a special place.I had put up rat sheets ,and a few poster cards Sherry had sent in the beginning, before their mission went "black". I was developing a case...I was on the verge of solving it, before I put a near end to myself. But , Myc, I had concluded that our father was still alive at that time."

Mary nodded, "He ,he left me at a hotel in Berlin,Germany ,after one of his "Flock Thinning "missions, -missions to assasinate the terrorists linked to the Queen's assasination plan,and Mum's murder. Said I was old enough, and under the protection of the other agents. And that it would compromise this last mission,if I was to follow him...So, I don't know what happened to him, but he was alive last I knew."

Sherlock nodded, "My old tree fort,and the Key family home, is where we will ironically find the key evidence I will need to begin to solve this."

"The Keys tried to kill you...the last time you went there." John groaned.

"I can furnish a warrant for their arrest?"Greg submitted,as if it was obvious.

"And I can make some deductions to help close that case. A study in family feud, or "Study in the Fate of Our Father..."

Despite the drama,and his entire broken life being laid before them all, Sherlock was already enjoying this too much.

At least Sherlock's current addiction-solving crime- was beneficial to others, and didn't always harm him physically.

John felt his stomach wrench, now understanding the man he'd lived with for all those years so much better, and being trull amazed by his ability to survive...


	11. Chapter 11 Presence of Mine Enemies

**Chapter 11: Presence of Mine Enemies~**

Of course, they were expecting a fight. So, Mycroft had a few agents called up, to come and invade the property. Greg and Sally were also part of the team sent in to get this information. It was like something from a spy-movie. Except, it was a little too strange for fiction.

John held his breath,as they came rolling up the drive. Sherlock was sitting next to him on the left hand side, and Mary was on his right. Her eyes were filled with curiosity, to see where her brothers had grown up.

But Sherlock drew up inside himself, like a cistern collapses without water. The old apple tree was still there, looming like a shadow of death over the lawn. One end of then noose was still hanging in the branches. The Key's had tied it up again, to mock. John let out a half- gasp. Then his attention was turned to a huge old oak. It was nested with the tree fort, where Sherlock used to dream of being the pirate that would set sail for his family, and bring them back to England. This...John thought, was Sherlock's real home.

The property was silent. No sign yet of the murderous foster family. In a quiet huff, knowing he would follow, Sherlock breathed, "Careful when you go up, I left needles on the floor..."

He wasn't kidding. John had to bite his lip, to keep from letting out a terrible groan. There were enough needles laying about to look like a wall of steel had shattered here.

But there was something else. Shadows of a child...The hauntings of a boy that was never allowed to be young. There was a whittled wooden sword here,a dog's collar there. A collection of shiny rocks,and feathers, and all manner of strange things, in a box labeled "Treasure". John smiled, sadly. Sherlock was milling about, stepping over needles, nearly tripping on a syringe. When John saw what the label on it said, he felt his heart grow cold.

"You..." he swallowed...

"I?"

Sherlock wasn't paying much attention, having to look for the letter he had hidden, almost doubled over. He was so very much taller than the boy he used to be. John watched him, soul groaning within him.

_I'm going to save you..._he silently promised.

"Ah!"Sherlock cried, delighted, finding his old rat sheets, hidden carefully under a hand-sewn cloth pirate map. Clumsy child stitches, suggesting Sherlock made it himself, with one of his needles, a different kind...John felt near tears.

_Because, of course, you are worth saving...You don't know that though do you, my Clueless Genius?_

Sherlock had frozen ,reading his father's letter. His eyes went wide, a hand floated to, and clutched his throat, as if he felt strangled.

"What?" John asked...

"JOHN!"Mary shrieked from outside.

"STAND DOWN!" Greg shouted,and a warning shot cracked off.

"Easy, I just want to see my b-o-y-s." said a familiar, sing song voice.

John had practically fallen off the ladder, and Sherlock was at his heels.

There in the lawn stood Mr. and Mrs. Key. And beside them stood the drunk that Sherlock and Mycroft had understood to be Lindor Key. But in the center stood Jim Moriarty, hands up, because D.I. Lestrade , Sergeant Donovan,and Special Agent "Mary Morstan-Watson", all had him at gun point. Oh,and then Captain Watson, M.D. also had him at gun-point, protectively going to Mary's side.

Sherlock just sighed, a heavy sigh, and then laughed.

"Let me guess, you've already "deduced" this haven't you, Sherlock? How I faked my own death, same as you?"

"Of course, you're so "changeable". Or rather your murdering-suicidal twin brother was always conveniently there, even in the end, to bail you out...As was Lindor Key, to serve as a decoy, whilst I grew up in the presence of mine enemies..."

"Sherlock?"asked Mycroft, who had been swarmed by his agents, horrified.

"What?!"John gasped, severely tempted to pull the trigger, but afraid he'd hit Sherlock ,who had stepped in front of him.

"When did you piece it together?" Jim asked, smiling, enjoying this.

"Well, I never have doubted my senses. Clearly, I am seeing you, and it is actually you, no tell-tale markings of plastic surgery, which-oh we don't have to go over how I would know that ,now do we?"

"No, because that would continue to make you the bloody show-off -that you are that always did over-shadow our Jimmy- _you _solved his very first murder!" spat Mrs. Moriarty.

"Shut up, Mum!" Jim shouted at her.

"Never mind all that, Mrs. Susan Moriarty."Sherlock said to the old woman, addressing her directly. "How did I piece it together, Jim?There were signs, signs that you had a twin, that I deduced ,yes, during my Hiatus, when I saw you multiple times, but it was impossible because "you" were undeniably dead. So, yes, you had a twin,and his confrontation with me on the roof, to finish your fool- proof plan to end me in disgrace, was a favor you did for him;he wanted to die. But I really couldn't care why you did it now, Jim,as you said, why does anyone do anything?All I want to know is, what did you do with my father?"

"Me? What makes you say "I" did anything with him?"

Sherlock held up the letter from his dad ,that he hung on to as a secondary life support, in the dark years after he and Sherry had disappeared.

"Because the first and last letter he sent me, is in your handwriting."


	12. Chapter 12 The Red-Headed Janitor

**Chapter 12: The Red-Headed Janitor~**

Moriarty smiled, and licked his lips, practically purring with laughter, as Sherlock waved the letter impatiently in the air.

"Oh, you really don't know? Well, ok, Sherlock, you're the genius, not me. Tell me, what you've deduced so far. Why you left your bike 3 miles from the jewelry store ,when you went to investigate the Curious Case of the Pilfered Onyx?"

John swallowed. So, that bit about walking, really hadn't been a Holmesian bluff to put off telling about his new bike,and make it a suprise, or to keep John from chiding him about not wearing his helmet and ,thus, getting snow in his hair. He really had been walking ,just as he had said.

Sherlock clearly was not amused. His lips formed the steel line they only did when he was dealing with Jim Moriarty. Maybe ,in real life, people might not have arch nemesises, but Sherlock's life hadn't been "real".So far it had been a nightmare.

"I had suspected for some time that our adopted-brother Lindor was not who we were supposed to believe he was. When I got the call, from Gavin-"

"Greg...My -my name's Greg.." the policeman corrected in a soft, breathless mutter.

"Oh, sorry. You know who, -when I was called in for the case I solved yesterday, I had ,actually,already solved it before I got there. I have ,admittedly, been more wary of all suspects since the days of my Hiatus. I had him give me detailed descriptions of everyone present on records ,the same evening as the crime. The description of the janitor stuck out to me. The bright red hair in the long braid, black nail polish, and indicative "red swan" tattoo ,under the left eye?. And the ring with the missing jewel, I had him describe it to me in detail ,as well. Golden band,stone missing was onyx, so naturally the police assume the black smudges on the band were dust from the damaged stone. But I had reason to believe it was the janitor- he would have been the only one present for long enough to weedle the stone free with just his fingers, which were painted black, without having to flee the scene in haste,and thus somehow damaging the stone. The case, was extremely simple ,therefore; there was no damage even to the jewel-case, and none of the other rings were compromised. But, of course, the janitor would know where the keys to the case were,and as -so the D.I. told me-, there were no scratch marks around the locks, I could assume they had not been picked. Something criminals never learn is-don't commit a crime if you have such a conspcious description! This-OBVIOUS!-criminal, also matched the description of my surrogate older brother, the murderer, who's execution was supposedly botched,and when he didn't die from it, they sent him away ,to make it seem as though he had. Which is why we never talk about it..."

He waved a dismissive hand at the tall, long red-haired, drunkard man in question,standing with the Moriarty's.

"So, when they arrested him,and I got to make my own conclusions visually, I determined that ,yes, this was Lindor, not only out in plain sight, but comitting a crime with the intention of getting caught. And why?Two reasons, he wasn't going to steal the ring he tampered with, which is why it was in the case. He was going to implant it with a lethal injection needle, to stick the policeman that touched it, and so make him suffer the same botched execution he had experienced, and survived, wrong dosage or some such. Has to matter..."

"Which is why you were so adamant I not touch the ring until you got there..."Greg whispered.

"Yes, I intended to remove such a needle as there probably was, if it was who I thought it was, and if it was the sort of crime the evidence was leading me to believe it would be...Being so chemically desensitized, I figured it would have a lesser effect on me,if I was stuck while trying to remove it, which it did- the needle is currently enbedded in my right index finger."

John flinched ,visibly, and Mary looked at him in concern. But Sherlock continued, "The other reason, was to declare his return ,in a way that would be obvious only to me. And why would he need to return? To bring about some sort of vengeance, apparently. Upon whom ,exactly? Began to look as though it were me? I had nothing to do with his conviction/ execution, the crime had been very cut-and-dry, some disagreement there had been between himself, and another man that worked for his employer, whom he, therefore, shot in the head...So, why come to get vengeance on me, unless he was the tool of someone else's vendetta? Someone who has ALWAYS had a vendetta against me...for whatever reason, why do you do anything you do? So the conclusion I had come to was that you were back. How or why wasn't so important, as making sure my family, abusive as they have been, weren't compromised. Because, horrible as they were, they were MI6 agents, and if they were compromised, MI6 was compromised, and Mycroft too was probably compromised, and so also were the Watsons. So, under the guise of Christmas shopping, I came to see what kind of rigging you had lined our house with. And come to find my "parents"weren't who they appeared to be either..."

Jim giggled,"Oh, honey! It gets ALOT better than that!"


	13. Chapter 13 Murderer's Pedigree

**Chapter 13: Murderer's Pedigree~**

Sherlock smiled, and John felt a shiver pass through him, a soldier's instinct, that this was about to take a turn for the worse.

"Do enlighten me..."Sherlock said ,sarcastically.

Jim was smiling like a kid in a candy shoppe. "My parent's were the ones that were training Trenton and I to be serial killers..."

Sherlock's brows flickered, "Trenton being the twin I met on the roof?"

"The one that blew his brains out for me? Yep, that's my dearest, identical twin Trenton..who Mummy and Daddy always hated because he was absolute _rubbish _at murder. He didn't want to do it, HATED to do it. Wanted to die, about as long as he lived. Finally, so Mummy and Daddy wouldn't abuse him any more, I arranged for them to allow him to be my "voice box". There was actually only one time, before today, obviously, seeing as the Chirp is dead, that we met in person, and that was in the pool house. Every other time was Trenton, pretending to be me, and becoming a very good imposter, seeing as Dad would give him relatively the same beatings he used to give you if he didn't get "me" right..."

Sherlock nodded, "Ah, this is beggining to make much more sense. "You" were always making the most subtle changes to your appearance, I knew there was something,..not quite the same about "Pool House Jim".

Jim grunted softly ,in aggreement,and Mary laid a hand on John's shoulder, sensing he was about to snap and shoot the consulting criminal before he could be drug back to justice...Mum and Dad Moriarty in tow this time.

"So, why the Holmes brothers, Jim?" Sherlock asked at length.

Jim smiled,eyes squinting, "Ah, that's where it gets fun. See, really Mum and Dad were kinda the black sheep of MI6. Everybody thought they were too reckless to be trusted. They got kicked off the "Queen's Murder Investigation" ,oh, forever ago, actually by your real father, Nigel Holmes, and by the lady agent that was his assistant, and was his second wife ,when Chaya was offed, Sherrinford's foster Mummy, Lucia...The one who was always feeding you lies about a brother named Billy ,that died in a fire?"

John had snapped, and would have shot him for speaking to Mary then ,had Sherlock not stepped even closer, ever protective of his own twin.

"So,it was revenge?"

"Well done, Sherlock, I actually think you're getting a little bit better at that thing you do; guess your brain is finally drying out a bit from all those drugs. Well, they're really good agents, yeah? So they were put on the witness protection program list thingy ,and they also helped train young agents...But the one they really spoiled, gave whatever they wanted, was Special Agent Richard Brook, aka, me!"

Sherlock let a puff, and Mycroft looked like he could faint, realizing that MI6 was more than compromised. The consulting criminal was one of their own.

"Initially, I was like a spy, I mean they'd never let a kid do the nasty stuff, right, Sherry, you didn't get to do all that till daddy left you with the big girls, after step- mummy was killed in all of yours last mission, huh? But yeah, Sherlock, you were right, they wanted revenge for being kicked off the Queen's Murder Investigation. So, after I begged them for a really good murder, and since you were the one that solved my first murder with that swimmer brat that laughed at me- they let me help with operation, "Off Chaya Holmes, Make Nigel Pay". They arranged for you to be there when they did it, so I could..."

Suddenly Jim's eyes were flashing like oil when one has dropped a match into it,"So, I could BURN you, baby! Burn the beating heart right out of you! And don't you remember who hooked you up to the slide machine thing( I invented that , by the way) .You don't remember that I'm the one that gave you that little shower ,do you? And if Mycroft hadn't found you, I would have come back for rounds 2,3,4, oh however long it took, till I held the ashes of your heart in my hand..."

John was having to be held back by Greg ,and Mary,and Sally now.

Sherlock nodded, "So, let's see if I get the whole thing straight... You failed all those long years ago, and so, to cover for you, Mum and Dad practically beg to take the Holmes urchins under their wing, right? They subject us to their life- long abuses, biding their time ,till you can perfect your murder. Then, I tear down your whole network, and you have to go incognito ,and Trenton blasts his brains out, while you continue waiting,and watching for the right time to finish me off?Did I get anything wrong?"

Jim shrugged, "So, I admit, I'm like Dr. Frankenstein, and you're my monster, and I let you get a little out of control...But, yeah, pretty much, I've come to finish you. Except, I've actually grown a little fond of you, durst I say. SO..." his eyes got even brighter now, on the verge of demonic.

"So, this time instead of just killing you, I'm gonna give you some options, and we're gonna make a deal..."

"Did you forget that we have agents of the British government here to prevent such?"Mycroft asked.

Jim opened his coat, to reveal an explosive vest, like the one that John had been forced to wear that once. Everybody, with the exception of Sherlock, took a step back.

Jim cracked his neck, "Oh really...it's just...so obvious! This ...problem, has always been mine, and Sherlock's! Mother, let the boys work it out _themselves,_ honestly!"

Sherlock nodded, " I'm listening..."

John realized then that he was begging God-again- that Sherlock would live...


	14. Chapter 14 The Fourth Door

**Chapter 14: The Fourth Door~**

Jim smiled, and licked his lips, giving Sherlock a ravenous look like he wanted to swallow his soul. John's blood went cold,and his heart was flopping like a dying fish, the same way it used to do in Afghanistan when a soldier died "on the table".

"Well, seeing as you now have 3 siblings..."Jim rolled his eyes, like he were about to break into an Excorsist routine, and then he shook his head,

"Door 1: I come up with a really sick end for Sherrinford, which ,by the way I've been watching you for years, dolly, and- "

He made a hiss sound with his teeth,that indicated he intended something perverse for her. Mary swallowed, and John kicked his way free of the arms, and protectively drew her to his chest, furious.

Sherlock snorted a soft laugh- as if he'd ever choose that door!-"What's door number 2?"

Jim smiled, "Mycroft dies. Not really so sure how, I guess I'd come up with a few diffrent ways, and let you pick from those."

The agent's hands tightened on their sidearms...Forced to stand down because of the vest that would blow them all to Kingdom Come, but furious with the way this freak was humiliating their boss.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and nodded, as if that was completely stupid,

"Door 3?"

" I take John to a similar location as the one I took you when you were a "wee laddie" and burn the heart out of him, and make you eat the ashes."

John stepped forward, "Sounds like the best door to me!" he gasped, and Mary started to cry,and claw at him, unable to speak, but wanting him with her.

Sherlock threw out an arm, and let it slam into John's chest,to hold him back,

"I choose Door 4."

"There isn't a door 4, DOOFUS!"

Sherlock leaned down over him, silver-green eyes piercing ,like lighting through the storm -cloud, into Jim's overbearingly dark ones,

"Yes ...there is...One we closed...But it's always been there, and we can open it again, you and I. This is _our_ problem,...isn't it?"

"What?What door?!" John gasped,digging his fingers into Sherlock's arm. But he never broke gaze with Jim, and froze, even though John's nails were digging into him,enough to draw blood.

"WHAT door?! Look, it's ok, I'll do it! Just let my family off the hook , for the love of God, Jim!" John cried, twisting at Sherlock's arm again, desperately, jostling his shoulder hard as he could, wanting to be let go.

"You would do that for them?" Jim asked,coldly,"As TERRIFIED as you are of the idea of dying -again- by fire? Why?"he laughed, at how absurd that sounded.

"Why does any one do anything? Your words, not mine."

"OH, ADMIT IT, SHERLOCK, IT'S CUZ YOU **LOVE **THEM!" Jim shouted, and Sherlock turned to John, face grey.

"What?..No...No, I said I'd do it!" he gasped.

"But Johnny!" Jim whined, making a puppy-dog-pout face, "It's not your choice, it's his...Is that your final answer, Sherlock?Door Number 4?"

Sherlock swallowed, and for the very first time since he'd known him, John saw pure terror, barely concealed, in his eyes.

"Final Answer. Door 4, yes..."Sherlock said, as John was shaking his head. Sherlock spun fiercely on Jim, "But , just so you know, if you try to do anything to them, which you will once I'm finished, -no, I'm not that stupid!- these people are witnesses. You will be brought to justice this time, _GOD _is my witness, you will..."

Jim smiled,sickly, "Oh, I won't fight it. But..." his voice got higher in tone, "To ensure my deal is kept, Mycroft is coming with us- also as witness- or I'll blow you all to hell!-"

Mycroft stood tall as a thin oak, face a mask of ice, to hide the fact that his soul was shattering like a thousand kingdoms of breaking glass. Spreading his arms like wings, he gracefully made his agents step aside.

"You will be brought to justice." he repeated,eyes as cold as a serpents.

"Yep, but it'll be too late for Sherly,now won't it! Speaking of which, say your goodbyes, honey, we need to go..."

John was clinging to Sherlock suddenly, fingers digging at the front of his shirt...

"N-nnn-" he couldn't even utter the sounds it took to say "No."

"It's alright,John..."

"NNNNN!"

"Let me go..."

John clung to him,and little trails of blood ,from where John scratched him under the fabric, began to appear on the white of his shirt. Greg was clutching his mouth to keep from screaming, and Sally was actually crying, mouth gaping, finally understanding the "Freak".

John was shaking, and pulling at him "Me...let me do ..it.." he mouted, unable to make the words...

"It's alright,Let go..."

John tried to shout,and it came out as a wheezing groan.

"Let go, John! Let go!"Sherlock begged in desperation, as Jim put a gun against his head,and Mr. Moriarty hand-cuffed Sherlock and Mycroft together...

Mary was screaming now, unintelligble things. John sunk to his knees,at Sherlock's feet, and Sherlock looked down at him, eyes wide-open in absolute terror, but he was controlling himself, quietly hyperventalating...

"Goodbye..." he whispered, as he was hauled away to a long black car, that Lindor had brought around...


	15. Chapter 15 His Last Client

**Chapter 15: His Last Client**

For a long time, Mycroft and Sherlock sat stiffly side by side, as the long black car, slid snake-like down streets ,creeping back to London,taking many detours, to the half-burned warehouse where it all began, and where it all would end.

Mycroft was chewing his lip, refusing to cry in the presence of the enemy. But he would die tonight, not in the body,perhaps, but certainly in the soul. He was already reliving the terrible day he had forgotten, when he pulled his brother from the same ashen place to which they now returned, a hundred times per mile.

"I had entirely forgotten they had left it standing; it is ,after all, the perfect place for a burning! "Jim laughed, from somewhere up front. Then he frowned, in the rear-view mirror.

"You boys can talk...You know, you won't get any other chances to, so now might be a good time."

Brightly lit up cars were passing by them, people about their daily lives, not living under the shadow that the Holmes boys always had. Briefly, Mycroft wondered what it would be like to be part of their silly, little world...

Sherlock flinched, terror rising like a fever in his blood. Still he kept a straight face, and for the upteenth time since he'd been alive, Mycroft marveled at his strength. But he was absolutley terrified, reliving his last fire, too.

So, Mycroft, ever the caring big brother, to the very end, reached around the cuffs, and clutched Sherlock's clammy hand.

"There's no need for words right now..." he replied, raising his nose in the air, as if to show Jim he wasn't about to stoop to his level. Lindor drove past Baker Street on purpose, just as a strange ,old man came staggering to the front door, and rang the bell.

"Thought you might like to check up on the granny; she'll weep buckets, it won't even need to rain for weeks around here!Oh, look a client,Sherlock! You won't ever have any more of those, now will you? Because tonight I'm retiring you...Hey,why the long face?You should be rejoicing...They light fires for celebrating..."

"Jim Moriarty, I should like to inform you that every thing you say will most definately be used against you when this does go to court..."Mycroft said,voice almost robotic.

"Oh?Is that a threat?"

"That is a promise. Now, if you don't mind, I know that you will make my brother's passing a severe ordeal. However,his last moments belong to me ,and I suggest you let us have them, or I'll break your nose in half."

With a huff, Jim turned around.

"Thank you, Myc..."Sherlock muttered. Mycroft motioned for Sherlock to lay his head on his chest. He looked at him, confused. For the upteenth time, Mycroft swallowed his tears.

"Lay down ,Sherlock. You'll need all the strength you have for the task ahead of you."

Sherlock nodded,and laid his head trustingly on Mycroft's chest. Mycroft swallowed. He trusted him, even after all the times during the Hiatus that he had nearly NOT saved him, even now when he was just holding him, like the trusting lamb, on his way to slaughter...

"Wonder who that was at the door? Might have been a good case..."Sherlock muttered, absent- mindedly...

Mycroft allowed himself to weep in his mind, though now his eyes were too glassy to form tears...

"No, it was most likely extremely boring. Stolen watch or something..."

Mycroft could kick himself for saying that. A stolen watch implied stolen time, to him at this instance, at least. And if anybody was robbed of time, it was Mycroft Holmes ...


	16. Chapter 16 The Man at the Door

**Chapter 16: The Man at the Door~**

"SHERLOCK, DEAR!"Mrs. Hudson cried, cheerily from the door. "Did you have a nice visit with John and Mary! Don't be cross, but while you were out, I got you some things. And a Christmas tree!; it's high time we put one up, will you help me? And I made biscuits, those one's with figs, I know you love them!"

Nigel swaggered,and coughed, suprised to find that an old woman had left the apartment unlocked at night, in this part of town. So,she was expecting someone? But the fact that she greeted him with his son's name, and that she was talking to said supposed son, as if he was her own, suggested that the boy certainly did live here with this kindly old woman, that...

Mrs. Hudson stepped around the corner, suprised to find her Sherlock age -progressed to being around her own age.

"Clever disguise,Sherlock..." she gasped suprised, and slightly embarassed to find the older incarnation of her favorite tennant attractive (not that the boy version wasn't nice, but it would be improper for her to be attracted to him ,she thought).

"Ah, so my son does live here, then?"

"Your son?"

Nigel stood up, trying to hide that he was injured. Now that she was looking into his face more directly, Mrs Hudson could clearly see this was NOT Sherlock. In fact the eyes were more like...almost exactly like...Mary's?

"But ...you're..?His father and mother...are...?"Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"Sherlock has never told you he was adopted at a young age?"

Mrs. Hudson laughed, "Sherlock isn't one to share alot of personal things..."

Nigel swallowed, near panic. Even though he was a man used to danger, no one becomes used to danger involving their child. Least of all a child he very nearly lost already once to violent crime.

"Please listen,miss.."

"Hudson's the name, or well, actually one of my given names ,the one I prefer, is Violet."

"Please, Violet, there has been a serious misunderstanding for lack of a better term. I have information that may mean Sherlock's life or death, but I need to deliver it to Sherlock himself..."

Mrs. Hudson nodded gravely, "Oh, you're one of those agents- Sherlock and Mycroft work for those people. Well, he was at his best mate-what used to live in the room upstairs, John's house, him and his wife's house, rather..."

John Watson, the man that he had traced Sherrinford back to,as being her husband.

"My children are in danger, Violet. John Watson, I know, from Afghanistan, though he may not remember me...If any man can help me, if any man can be trusted with confidential information concerning my son, it would be him.I'm certain... Do you have his number?"

"Oh, I can't remember the new one, here let me go get my mobile. Would you like to come in for a cuppa? I was making some for Sherlock and I, but he cleary isn't coming home tonight..."

Nigel drew a shaky breath. He may never be coming home again...

"Alright, sure." he said with a smile, trying to avoid alarming the dear lady...

Who by the way, was very pretty considering her age...


	17. Chapter 17 Phone a Friend

**Chapter 17: Phone a Friend~**

"BY GOD, LET ME OUT OF HERE, OR I'M COMING THROUGH THE WALL! I'LL TEAR THE WHOLE BLEEDING BUILDING DOWN!" John screamed, beating his head against the bars, until his forehead began to bleed.

"John,stop! You're hurting yourself!"

"Yeah, WELL, THEY'RE GOING TO KILL HIM!" John shouted, tearing at the bars again.

"Baby..." Mary wrapped her arms around John's shoulders, that were beginning to sag from exhaustion.

It had been hours now since Sherlock and Mycroft had climbed into that car. Mycroft's agents had thought it would be a good idea to put the Watsons in protective custody. And while that may have been what their boss would have ordered ,if he were free, it was most certainly NOT a good idea; they were all on edge, John was scaring the daylight and the darkness out of them. Clearly Captain Watson and cages don't mix.

He bowed his head, with an angry growl, and let his wife steady him, watching as blood slid down his bars, and wished he could use it to slicken them,and pop them out of socket. Mary rested her face in the side of his neck. "We have GOT to get out of here!" he hissed.

"I know, but we have to be sensible, and not just try and bull-fight our way out."

"Oh, now you sound like HIM! Well, what should we do?"

John's heart felt like it was about to explode. Mary was sinking in thought..."Oh, I wish my dad were here! He would know..."

Suddenly, John's mobile was ringing...Mary looked at it, brows knitting perplexed.

"This better not be Mrs. Cluthridge, calling to complain about how much her prescription costs, because I can NOT deal with that right now!"John hissed, as Mary slid it out of his pocket, answered it,and held it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"My name is Nigel Holmes, but you know me as Special Agent Alex Force, don't you, Captain Watson? Do you remember the day you saved my life?"

John gasped, at the miracle God had given him to prove that He was still alive, and still watching.

"Yes, yes I do, and I may need you to return the favor tonight ,sir!"

"No, I know what you're saying, but really it's me imposing on you.I'd save my sons myself, but I've busted my ribs. So, instead, I'm compelled to put my best man on it. Rather, my best man,and my best girl. Is Sherrinford-Mary, you call her Mary-is she there with you?"

"Yes, Daddy, I'm here!"she laughed, not having heard her father's voice in far too long.

He laughed ,delighted."Alright, I have the authorization to over-ride the lock on your cell-(don't ask how I know you're in one). I'll send a car for you; it will pull up by the rubbish bins outside. When you get to the warehouse where they are going to perform Sherlock's execution, I will feed Sherrinford a line of code that can over-ride Moriarty's little device, thus saving Sherlock's life. If Mycroft stalls, like I know he will, then you should have plenty of time, but be on the double anyway! John, I'm afraid you'll have to take this one open -handed, but that warehouse is chock full of old broken pipes and boards,and things you can manage with."

John grit his teeth, "Get me out of here, and I'll tear his head off with my teeth!"

The door burst open,and Mary chuckled, as she heard her dad say,

"I certainly hope you mean Moriarty,and not Sherlock, although ,I agree, it must be upsetting for you, the bargain he made. But I should very much like to see my child, being I had to leave him on death's door last time,and have regretted it ever since; so please be gentle. Could you put Sherry- Mary,sorry!, on the phone now?"

John handed Mary the phone, snapping into soldier mode, and she smiled, finding him infinitely more attractive that way...

"Hello, Dad! Long time, no see." she said into the receiver, as they escaped.


	18. Chapter 18 Ring Around the Roses

**Chapter 18: Ring Around the Rosey~**

The car stopped, right outside the burnt wall of the old warehouse, right outside the self-same room in which Sherlock was once tormented as a child,and where-in Chaya died.

Sherlock sat up from Mycroft's arms, shaking like a leaf in a winter's last breath. Mycroft still clung to his hand. He turned to look at him, eyes wide, as if discovering some sort of horrible truth.

And who knows how fear is processed in the beautiful mind of Sherlock Holmes? How the most rational of minds could come to the conclusion that he needed to be _afraid? _Violently afraid...

Mycroft didn't tell him he was alright, because he knew that he was not. But he needed to tell him something, to give him some ,small measure of peace, in the torment of his memory.

"I'm here..." he whispered, and Sherlock nodded. Jim tore open the door. Sherlock closed his eyes, preparing himself. Let out a huff, and opened his eyes, clenched his jaw, trying to be ready, even though he never would. Nobody should ever HAVE to be ready for ...this. Before he could turn around, Jim had taken him by the head, kissing him in the midst of his hair. Mycroft felt like he was going to be sick.

"Mmmm...Sherlock, I'm going to miss you SO much, you know?" he said, as he reached, and undid their cuffs, prying their hands apart. Or he tried to, in the end, to prove to Mycroft he could do this, Sherlock had had the courage to let go himself, and to bat Jim's hand away. Who proceeded to draw his hands ,in a pretense of affection, through his hair, and leaned close to his ear,whispering,

"Oh, I have to show you something...before we go in..." He grabbed Sherlock by the throat then, and lead him into the wreckage...

Sherlock came running out, unrestrained, a moment later, eyes foggy with tears, stumbling as if he was lost.

"There...She's...she's in there,Mycroft! She's...still there..." he gasped...

Mycroft slowly stood, hands folded. "So, there is still a body, Moriarty?" he addressed the psychopath.

"She is really lovely...looks better like that ,than she did in life, even. A bit skinny though..."

Sherlock turned to him, eyes wide with pain greater than fear..."For God's sake..." he croaked..."Don't make him go in there. Let him go now...Go home...Let all of this..end between you and I..."he held up his wrists,

"Let it be over now, whatever you thought about doing to me, I ask you to do far worse, if that is what it will take, to leave my family in peace..."

"Are you begging, Sherlock? You? Beg ?! Tsk, tsk, I am disappointed..."

"No...Not begging..."Sherlock hissed, jaw twisting in agony, "But if I must die -like this-by God it won't be for nought!" suddenly he tore out of his coat, and threw it on the pavement.

"Where is this device?Where?! Shall I lead the way, or will you do the honors?" he stormed towards the other door, and into death's waiting arms.

Quietly, shadowy like the Reaper,trying not to glance into the place already claimed by fire, Mycroft followed.

And there it was, a long track, like a factory belt, with two hooks hanging down, with cuffs for locking someone's wrists in.

"Simply step up on this box, and I'll push a button, and "Presto!"you're ready to go" Jim said in an animated tone. "It's set up like a car wash, we'll have to rinse you first."

Sherlock climbed the milk crate Jim gave him. With a hiss, he closed his eyes, and lifted his wrists,and Jim locked them in ,and kicked the box out beneath him And then he was suspended by his wrists,and gave a painful cry. But the worst part- the anticipation- was over now. The look Sherlock gave Mycroft told him we was ready...

But Mycroft Holmes is not one to give up that easily.

He pulled out his mobile. Jim pulled out his gun.

"_What!-_ do you think you are doing?"

"Oh, texting the Queen to tell her about the assasination plan. Bloody well time someone did."

"Give me your phone."

"Are you going to threaten me with death?Sorry, but that would be more welcome than your initial plan."

He nodded to Sherlock hanging in the torture device..He was panting, thrown off by Mycroft's stalling.

For the upteenth time in their lives, his eyes said,

_Don't try to save me..._

And with his eyes Mycroft said back,

_How can I not, brother mine?_

"Anything you can threaten me with now, I can do worse to you..."Jim started, "Or rather, to him...I can make this SOOOOO much more painful than it has to be."

"Do it!"Sherlock hissed.

"What?"

"I'm going to die anyway. What does it matter?"

"He has a point."Mycroft shrugged.

"OH THE BLOODY HOLMESES!"Moriarty roared, suddenly violently angry,and pacing.

"Oh, are you angry, Jim?A tantrum?You?! Nahhh..."Sherlock mocked,in a vicious tone.

"SHUT UP! I'm thinking of a way to make this worse, if there is one, which there better be for my sake, so sorry for you..."

"Take your time, it's not like we're... going anywhere..."Sherlock said, looking up at his wrists...

Absently ,he started to wonder how John was taking all of this...


	19. Chapter 19 The Calvary is Coming

**Chapter 19: The Calvary is Coming**

_"FOR GOD'S SAKES, GIVE IT SOME GAS!" _John shouted.

"I'm going as fast as it can! " the mysterious driver ,Nigel had sent, cried.

"Oi, just a second ,Dad. Hey! Can you two pipe down, Daddy's trying to give me the line of code that will stop Sherlock from getting killed, and it's a tiny bit important I get the numbers right."

So John shut his trap, and balanced on his knees, picking at a comb he found in the dash.

"Trying to look nice for Holmes? You know, there's a reason people talk about you two, despite the fact you're married to his sister..."

John smiled, "Funny, or a decent attempt at humor, but actually, if you have to ask, I'm turning it into something that can kill you!" He flicked the comb out of the little metallic holster that looked like a harmonica's body. Slid the comb off the little metal wand it was on, and started filing the body of the wand against a nail file, to make it's already somewhat sharp sides to be knife-like,

The driver looked away from him almost horrified.

"Oi , what you doin' now?" he gasped, when he felt John's rough finger's swipe at his ear.

"You had a pen behind your ear. Gonna use that too, if that's quite alright with you."

"How many diffrent ways can you kill someone?"

"Usually around a few hundred. When it's Sherlock I have to kill for, the possibilities are endless..."

"O-k..well I'm just Nigel's driver-don't take nothing out on me!"

"Give it as much gas as it can take, and you have no worries, mate."John gasped, ripping open the insides of a throw-away camera he found in the console, tweaking it to be used as a tazer.

"OhhhhmmmmyyyGoooood,..."The driver moaned, eyeing John suspiciously, and then dodging on-coming traffic.

"If it helps at all, I know just as many ways to save a life." John laughed at the kid(he realized he was probably at least 10 years younger than him, and he was only in his mid- 30's).

"Hope so-for your friend's sake.I see smoke..." the kid said, as they came screetching in to the warehouse ,on two wheels.

"Ok, ok,I'll stay on the line. You may need to repeat it a few times, but I've written it down..."Mary was saying into the phone, as she and John filed out, while the car was still rolling ,albeit slowly.

The air smelled harsh like chemicals, as if Moriarty had been tampering with his device ,recently.

"Don't worry, Sherlock, the Calvary's coming."John gasped, as Mary motioned him towards the door they could get in through.


	20. Chapter 20 Of Pleasure and Pain

**Chapter 20: Of Pleasure and Pain~**

"Oh, wait, I have it, I...oooooh!" Jim hissed,and snapped his fingers, so giddy he could hardly walk straight.

"The needle Lindor got stuck in your finger, well that poison- you haven't reacted to it yet! You will!...And this will make the fire pretty too, I'll be _right _back, try not to get too bored without me, boys."

He ran to somewhere deeper in the warehouse, down the fateful track,and Sherlock stretched,and shuddered. The waiting was worse than whatever pain was coming.

Mycroft was studying him,as if his life depended on it. Trying to take him in, in case this was ,in fact, his very last few moments with him.

He hadn't been texting the queen. He 'd been sending a GPS program of some sort to Greg's phone, so the police could trace them, and know exactly where they had gone. Of course, he didn't know about John being not even half a mile away now. He still couldn't be reassured by the notion of back up. They might not get here in time...

"You...are very brave. Has anyone ever told you?"Mycroft asked.

Sherlock laughed, "I thought you said I was reckless and stupid..."

"Oh, well, of course you are, but you are also extremely brave. That would have been John up there, or even me...And God only knows what he wanted to do to Mary..."

The sudden realization that Sherlock was going to die for him, made Mycroft want to cry that much more. But, no, he would be the Ice-man to the end...Had to be strong for Sherlock's sake.

Who was struggling against his bonds...

"More stupid than brave,..."

"Not stupid, young. Much too young..."

Sherlock turned to him, face not showing the torment he was already going through in his mind,and wrists...

"Thank you...for everything ,Mycroft...I would have been much younger,if not for you..."

Mycroft smiled, slowly, "It was my pleasure."

Sherlock's brows twisted,"And your pain..."

"It was a good pain."

"That doesn't make any sense at all..."

The two of them started laughing, anxiously.

"Tell them...would you...that I ..uh...I love them. You too...I just..am rubbish, at saying those sorts of things."

Mycroft shook his head, "I won't need to tell them. Now ...they know."

Sherlock nodded."Will you tell them that I said so, actually?"

"I will..."

Just then, Moriarty was back,and he had the gas hose on full blast,and started showering Sherlock with a discolored oil, that smelled strongly of some chemical Mycroft knew was supposed to increase the pain. Sherlock was clearly in severe discomfort just coming in contact with it, and Mycroft didn't want to imagine what would happen once it reacted with the posion, and with the fire...

Jim ran the oil through Sherlock's hair with his fingers, like an obsessive beautician..."Ooooh, this stings a bit...When it reacts with fire, then yes,...you will learn your lesson, Sherly."

Mycroft's ice mask, was breaking against his will,and tears were coming without his authorization. Sherlock smiled at him, slow and steady.

"Now, all systems go!" Moriarty ran to the control room.

Sherlock was panting now, in a fully -controlled, beautifully- disasterous, full- blown panic attack .His eyes were suddenly as wide as clocks,and he gasped, trying to make words, it coming out as a groan,as the machine began to take him into the horrible chamber,that when Mycroft saw the full nature of the insides thereof, it brought him to his knees.

"LOOK AFTER THEM ,MYCROFT! DON'T LET JOHN DO ANYTHING STUPID!" Sherlock shouted, with more of a chirping croak, as his voice died in him.

"I will, I promise...Sherlock!"

He was slipping away from him, from his pitfully stretched out hand...

Sherlock was panting, and regretful tears were streaming down his face, wishing he had told his loved ones the things he needed to say himself...He saw how Mycroft's compsore broke, how he was crying helpessly,and with his last strength, he pushed up on his chains, and held his chin high so he could see his whole ,tear-wet but steady face.

"It's alright!"he cried, trying to sound jovial, "It's over now!... S' Alright..."

Just then John burst in , more through the wall than through the door, frozen in place by the sight before him.

"THE CONTROL BOX, WHERE?!" he shouted.

Mycroft pointed in the direction Moriarty had gone.

But Moriarty killed the lights,and jumped at John with a knife.

"It'll be like a disco in here in a minute, courtesy of Sherlock!" Jim shrieked,and one could hear police sirens outside just then,as Greg and the boys finally made it. Mary shouted something, and the last thing John was aware of was the sound of her feet on the floor, as he and Moriarty rolled in the heat of a fight.


	21. Chapter 21 A Shot for Sergeant Donovan

**Chapter 21: A Shot For Sergeant Donovan~**

It was in that same moment that several things happened at once.

Mary had made her way to the control room,and Jim, knowing he'd been beaten, had knocked her to the side,and torn threw to the other room. John 's phone flew out of her hand in the process,and shattered on the floor,and so she lost contact with Nigel. But the good thing about her being an agent is even under extreme stress, she could remember the numbers. It would take her a while, but she wouldn't need the lights...

Except she didn't have a _while._She could already see Sherlock ,fighting against his bonds, trying to see the machine more clearly, truly in a full-blown panic attack now, disappearing closer and closer into the jaws of the fire. She'd have to find the keypad in the dark.

Mycroft had gone outside, to direct traffic of the police. He shouted to the SWAT team Greg had brought, and was leading:

"Lights, now!"

And several gun-mounted lights came on.

"Follow me, over here's where they're needed!"Mycroft cried, directing them to Mary.

Greg followed, but stopped, frozen in fear, when he heard Sherlock cry out, because he was already suffering under the heat of the hell-like flames.

But Donovan's attention was drawn to where John and Moriarty rolled on the floor. John's camera tazer was just zapping Jim, who screamed,and knocked it away. The comb- knife lay broken, and so did the pen.

But John was getting the upper hand, until Jim pulled off his belt,and started to stangle him with it.

The only thing that kept John from blacking out was the blood-curdling cry he heard,and knew had to be Sherlock. Then a more heart-wrenching sound signaled from that direction, telling him he was alive, but in great pain. Oh, God, John couldn't think, couldn't fight-had to get to him.

Sally had aimed just right. When John stopped stuggling Jim stopped moving, and she slowly squeezed the trigger, not able to breathe.

It hit Jim right in the hip,and blew him across the room.

John sat up, tearing the belt off like it were a dead worm, coughing.

"GO!"Sally shouted, indicating the chambers.

Mary shouted, "I got it ,I got it!"

The track stopped, but Sherlock was suddenly screaming ,hysterically.

"Oh,God, it stopped with him inside the chamber." Greg groaned.

"But it stopped the system's flame throwers for right now,- he's either just -understandably- terrified, or the pain's not coming from being on fire-so we still have time!"Mary gasped.

John had come running,and heard it all.

Mycroft nodded, "It's some chemical, that reacts to heat- Moriarty showered him with it, before he started the -uh-the thing..."

"Right!"Greg cried, on a mission to find where ever Sally's bullet had taken Jim off to.

"John, you know what you gotta do..." he said, as he passed him.

"God ,yes!" he cried, and took off running.

John knew what it was to be trapped in a fire. He held his breath.

_Told you I was gonna save you,didn't I? No way you're dying like this-not on my watch!_ his thoughts gasped.

Not caring that it would break at least half his ribs, John slammed full-speed straight through the metal doors,and right to where Sherlock convulsed, reacting at last to the poison.

John closed his eyes, trying to ignore the chamber, which was too horrible for description. He reached up,and patted Sherlock's leg.

"Don't worry, gonna get you down..."

He leaned out the hole he'd created,

"THE CUFFS!"

"Right!"Mary called back, "I need a phone, need a code for the cuffs..."

"Or we can get it out of HIM!"Greg cried, hauling Jim to the key pad by the throat.

"HURRY, THE SHOOTERS!" John cried, hearing them beginning to charge...


	22. Chapter 22 For Better or Worse

**Chapter 22: For Better or Worse~**

"Who says I'll do it?" Jim asked, smiling cockily, spitting out some blood.

Greg cocked a gun under his throat. "That's not gonna do it..."

He flipped the gun over,and pistol whipped him in the wound to his hip. He let out a high piercing cry that harmonized with a lower groaning wail from Sherlock.

John had stood up under him, folding his knees around his neck, to take the pressure off his wrists. "Easy...it's ok...We're gonna get you out of here...HURRY UP, THE SHOOTERS ARE CHARGED!"

"That might... you-"Greg was too angry to even curse. Mary grabbed Jim's wrist in pinscher -like fingers,and held it above the keypad.

"I can hurt you worse, did you know that?Type!"

Jim was honestly more afraid of Sherrinford Holmes than he was of the D.I. He obeyed, eagerly.

John cried when he felt Sherlock's cuffs loosen, felt him teeter and sag onto his shoulders. He eased him to the ground. Away from the heat , the convulsions lessened to being just fierce jerks, like he had a severe case of the hiccups. Around his mouth his saliva had begun to foam a little ,like a dog with rabies, but other than that he looked relatively unharmed. John drug him through the hole, leaping on him,and rolling him out onto the hard, loose-board warehouse floor, as suddenly the flames consumed the chamber they had been in, in a wave of heat so fierce,it pushed them several yards away.

John sat up, when he heard Sherlock coughing. His eyes were cloudy, like water-color paints, and he looked like he had a milk -mustache from the poisonous foam. With a hiss of disgust, John gently wiped that off with his sleeve. Sherlock 's brows twisted confused...

"You..." he sat half way up, "You came for me?!" he asked, eyes suddenly watering, as if he would break into tears again.

"'Course I did ,you idiot!"John gasped, cradling him.

Sherlock shivered. And a great many things happened at once.

The police lead Jim outside,Mycroft took Greg aside to show him where his mother's remains were to be found, to use as evidence. A cab screetched up,and Nigel and Mrs. Hudson came barreling out, and running towards the scene, apprehended by police for a moment, until Mary ran out and said, "He's my father, he's my father!" and they let him through, let him run,and take her in his arms, clinging to her with all his strength.

Mrs. Hudson called to Sally, who came aside to console the poor old woman, who had known nothing about all of this until the last few hours.

So, in the midst of the confusion, every one had forgotten about Sherlock and John. It was the doctor's job to take care of him ,after all. For better or worse, which was exactly what he meant to do.

Sherlock was fingering the dried blood on John's forehead then, shaking like a newborn foal.

"I did it -accidently- to myself...Don't worry ,I'm ok...Are you...does it...still hurt?"

Sherlock swallowed,then nodded.

"God,Sherlock..."John gasped,and drew him up, hand behind his head, holding him like somebody would a newborn.

John was shaking now too,and Sherlock tried to smile, but winced,as another wave of pain showed him just how HUMAN he was. John sighed,

"Let's get out of here..."

"I ,uhmmm,...not sure I can...move..."

"Didn't ask you to,"John muttered, picking him up,and drawing him up onto his shoulders, folding his long legs up under his arms. For a moment he stood there, with his weight against him, panting, trying to take these last days in.

"Hey, you know, it's Christmas...Wanna go see that light park with me and Mary? Later, I mean, after you've had a shower and all that rot..."

"Sounds boring..."Sherlock moaned, half- asleep against him.

"Boring sounds good now, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded,and blew a shaky breath out of his nostrils...

"Good... boring,...want to...but had a client ,maybe?, come by my flat...Gotta check that out..."

John smiled, piecing together how Nigel had gotten his number now,

"I actually already know what that's about. Let's go outside and meet him. He 's the sort of client that might like to come see the lights with us-or any excuse to spend some time with you,after-God it's been ages!"

When Sherlock's only response was a curled brow that John didn't see,but felt against the back of his neck, he proceeded to carry him outside, and felt him flinch at the light of the day,and at the knowledge that he would survive...


	23. Chapter 23 Father Christmas' Ashes

**Chapter 23: Father Christmas' Ashes~**

John carried Sherlock out into the sun.

There stood the police, in a silent vigil, around a body bag. So, Chaya would make it out of her prison too, then? John burst into tears, why he didn't know. Perhaps it was the stress of these last, how many ever days? He had lost count of them...

Later ,he would be suprised to learn that it had only been almost 3. That today was Christmas Eve. And that his family was going to get the very greatest gift for this Christmas, the inital gift OF Christmas, and that was grace itself.

For in that moment John saw his wife wrapped in her father's arms,and they were both shaking with sobs ,at the sight of her mother at last being delivered up from the House of Damnation.

Mycroft was kneeling on the ground, face buried in his hand, crying shamelessly, not with sorrow, but with joy, that Chaya could at last be put to rest,and that Sherlock, as far as he knew, had survived un-hurt.

Mrs. Hudson gave a cry, being the very first one to notice John standing there, and she came running.

And just then, there, at the sight where he had lost his first love, Nigel Holmes looked up, and saw the old woman running, saw her catch Sherlock as John let him slide off his shoulders, saw her covering his face in motherly little kisses.

"Dear God, young man! Always getting into SUCH trouble!"she laughed, throwing her arms about his neck. He suffered her, breaking, not into tears, but the most lovely smile John had ever seen on his face, which made him smile in turn.

Here, Nigel realized, if anyone could be a mother to his children, and a companion in the twilight years of his life...it would be this kind lady, that had ushered him into her flat, and held his hand ,all through the uttermost terrifying night of his life. Yes, Nigel Holmes, hard, old, master assasin-who had lost all hope ,and his soul, in this one place-found love again from the ashes of his first bride, and the almost-ashes of his younger son. Not that Chaya could ever be forgotten, or that Sherlock would ever be reversed to the care-free ,dreaming child he remembered BEFORE the horrible fire...But this last grace, this adoptive mother and Latter Bride. This his family, biological,and annexed... his eyes found John Watson, and remembered the day he pulled him out of enemy fire, and bandaged his wounds, and gave him a chance to LIVE to see this day!...And here most families gathered about Father Christmas' fire for this soon-coming evening, to make their celebrations,and sing their songs... But his family's greatest celebration that ever was,and that ever would be ,was to be gathered around their Great Fires' Ashes,and shed their tears!

He stumbled forward, and his breath caught in his throat. As Violet stepped back,and the young man in her arms stood up to his full height, on shaking legs...

What was he supposed to do, or feel, or think? It hurt in his bones for his heart to beat...Because all he could remember was the day that he had found this child, in this place...

But a child no more. A man. A man that reminded him of himself, but was also wrapped in his mother's shadow by the raven curls, that were plastered to his head with some sort of poison the devil had anointed him with. A man that had clearly lived his own dark story, and survived. Silver and green eyes haunted by shadows and flames. He swallowed, straightened himself, and said quietly aside to the dear lady-to Violet-(Nigel would not be able to forget this name)

"This is the client that showed up at our flat last night, the one that gave John the information to get here?"Sherlock asked.

"Client?! Oh, Sherlock!" Violet laughed, and took one of his hands, beckoning him forward. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist ,to keep him from falling over,and Nigel wanted to move, wanted to run to them, but was turned to stone in the place where he stood. John looked up to meet Mary's eyes. She was smiling, and he knew what she was saying, in her head.

_We won._

Nigel felt like his knees would buckle. Sherlock clearly didn't recognize him, and how could he have expected him to?26 years, and a million horrors since he'd last laid eyes on him?

"Yes...The client..the one that I saw go into our flat last night...Not a love interest of yours, or not yet...but judging by the way you are twisting your finger in your sweater,.oh, never mind...Not important."Sherlock cleared his throat, and no one tried to shut him up, because no one could speak.

"Ehem, yes, it is terribly inconvenient you had to meet me here...and I would have had Mrs. Hudson tell you to come calling again, but I have been TERRIBLY inconvenienced by and old...college..." he glanced over Nigel's shoulder,at where Moriarty howled from the back of a police car, "-This evening, and seeing as he will no longer make himself a nuisance to me, I am available to take your case...Name's Sherlock Holmes, if that isn't obvious already..."

He extended a hand, and John let out a hiss. Until now he didn't realize that the super-heat in those chambers had caused the cuffs to grotesquely blister his wrists, one of the reasons for all the screaming. Made a note to bandage them in a little while...

"He's not a client,dear!He's-"Mrs. Hudson began.

"My name is Nigel Holmes." the man answered for himself.

Sherlock drew back his hand. He looked like he had been electricuted,and then his brows curled like he were deeply puzzled.

"Dad?!"

"Yes, Sherlock! Your dad!" John laughed, as the older man threw his arms around him.

John laughed,and cried,and rolled his eyes, and went to Mary muttering something that sounded like,"Ok,darling?" before taking her in his arms, and just standing there, rocking her back and forth.

Mary peered over her shoulder,at where Sherlock peered ,in blinking confusion, over their father's shoulder,and with a muffled giggle,she winked at him.

He smiled , tiredly, glad it was over, and that he didn't have to die for it .Not this time...


	24. Chapter 24 In Heavenly Peace

**Chapter 24: In Heavenly Peace~**

Christmas eve came and went, and Christmas morning was uneventful too, with everyone showering, and then coming to Baker Street, attempting to open the gifts, (Sherlock couldn't put on his new gloves, over the gaudy bandages John had affixed to his wrists) and eat the biscuits Mrs. Hudson( whom Nigel was insisting upon calling Violet, the two of them getting rather cozy with each other) had made them.

Then Mrs. Hudson,and Nigel went for a walk, Mycroft took a call from the Prime Minister, Molly and Greg put some cheesy Christmas movie in the telly,and curled up on the setee ,like wide-eyed school children, laughing a little too loudly at the corny humor, of whatever they were watching.

Mary wasn't feeling very well, and ended up falling asleep on the kitchen table,and John carried her to Sherlock's bed.

"He's your brother, he won't care. And if people talk , well, then they're stupid pigs."he laughed, pulling an afghan over her, and kissing her, and she stirred and made a little whining sound, like a tiny girl would do.

He left the room chuckling, and wandered outside. Wondering where Sherlock was, if he wasn't with anybody else, but ,clearly, wasn't on a case, either? His mobile was laying on the table, and that's not something he'd leave home if he'd taken a case at random. Or at least, John HOPED so.

Rather he found him, in the small lot behind the flat, standing in the snow, with his violin; coat and scarf blowing in the wind, and the instrument was singing the last lines of "Silent Night". Sherlock was singing too, in a soft, almost inaudible voice,

"Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace..."

"I'm sure she will..."John said softly, knowing what had prompted this choice of music, even if he didn't say.

Sherlock turned slowly, smiling,"She taught me how to play..."

"I wondered how you learned..."John laughed, and drew close.

They stood in silence, the instrument hanging at Sherlock's side, like a child drags a doll by a dangling arm.

"You ok?"John asked,trying valiantly to break this extreme ice.

Sherlock let a little gasp." Don't know..."

"Well, it's understandable, you've had a lot to process..."

"How did I forget her,John?"

John had expected such a question as this would come. Thankfully, he had better answers than a doctor could give. This was his life story too...

"I don't know...PTSD has weird effects on people? There were a lot of people who's names I couldn't put with faces for a while..."

Silence again, and then John let out a huff , and said,

"You know...It's ok. It's ok to be human ,Sherlock. To have a past. To _not_ be ok...To have forgotten...It's ok, and you know why?"

Sherlock's brows curled, because ,honestly, he didn't.

"Because I'm here now, to help. Because we're a family again, all of us. Because you don't have to live there... anymore. In the shadow of Moriarty...In the heat of your flames...Or even with the memory of your needles...You may have forgotten, but you remember now. You may have regrets, but it's over now...Christmas- "people" call it the season of hope. And it's the season to remember that you can hope, but...I think it's a season of grace too..."

"Grace?"

"Yeah..."

Sherlock shifted, uncomfortably...

"What is grace, John?"

John swallowed, licked his lips, not really knowing how to put it into words... all that had happened, how bright their future could be...If only Sherlock could see that. Then he laughed.

"It's what you are to me..."

Sherlock was even more confused now, and John laughed merrily, and came and wrapped his arms around him.

"Oh, when are you ever gonna get it, genius?..."

"Perhaps, I never will?"

"Well, that's fine too...It's all fine...Or ,or it will be."

John looked up again. So much had changed. So much pain had leaped up like fire, and then left them in the ashes...

But that mysterious thing about love, is that in the end, it will still be there...and no fire could take it away...

"Can we go inside now?It's freezing out here..."

Sherlock laughed, and followed John back into the flat. Into their home...

He drew a deep breath, as he closed the door, and laughed at John for saying something about the mess everybody had left for him to clean up.

Yes, it would all be fine. They were all together again ,and it was over now.

That's when he went in his room ,to lay down his coat,and scarf,and put the instrument away, and found Mary asleep on the bed.

Well, it was Mary...but...it was also...

"My sister,Sherrinford..."

**~The End**


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